Book 2 - The Winchester Prophecies
by GailDunn2
Summary: Sequel to Book 1 - Playlist. Sam and Dean, Castiel and Gail face danger from both Demons and Angels. Crowley is back and more evil than ever, and Metatron wants his revenge.


SUPERNATURAL - BOOK 2 - "THE WINCHESTER PROPHECIES"

CHUCK, 1.1

After leaving God's office, Chuck walked back to his own, nodding casual greetings to the Angels who passed him in the hallway.

Too many around right now to risk it, Chuck thought, entering his small office and shutting the door. Fortunately, Angels were generally company men and women and would clear out by the end of the work day. He smirked to himself. Angels, he thought. More like sheep. Anyone who had a mind of his own stuck out like a sore thumb here.  
Like him. Chuck was well aware that no one in Heaven really liked him. He supposed he understood; as he had held the title of One True Prophet for a while now, Chuck had been steadily writing prophecies until he had binders and binders of them. Enough for every Angel in Heaven, every Demon in Hell, and the humans on Earth that God had designated. When Chuck himself had been on Earth, he had met some of these individuals, most importantly Dean and Sam Winchester. He had kind of liked them. Even though they thought he was a douche.

Chuck sat down heavily in his desk chair and sighed. It had been a shock seeing Castiel in God's office. Even though he was the Prophet, there were some things God had shielded from Chuck's eyes and that had definitely been one of them. Damn Castiel. Of all the beings Chuck had written about over the years, Castiel was the most shielded. Chuck liked the feeling of knowing what was going to happen to the beings he wrote about before they did. It gave him a feeling of pride and power, qualities that had been lacking in him before the promotion. The fact that he was looked at as creepy by the individuals in question was just an unfortunate byproduct of the job. But it angered him that his file on Castiel was practically non-existent. He didn't like Castiel, didn't trust him, and Chuck knew the feeling was mutual.

As the Prophet, Chuck now knew that Castiel had elected to burn his manuscript, and he was furious. God had allowed Chuck to see their little exchange after he'd left the office. Chuck had been mortified to see all his hard work set to flame, but he was not surprised. He did wonder what the hell the point had been, though. Surely God knew he had stashed away another copy.

That last thought cheered Chuck a bit, and he took another bundle of blank paper out of his desk drawer and grabbed a pen. The work day was not over yet, and he needed to keep busy until most of the Angels in his department left so he could sneak over to Metatron's former office to retrieve his copy of the Gospels from the safe.

METATRON, 1.1

Metatron paced his cell, walking from side to side and end to end, trying to get some exercise. He wanted to stay in fighting shape, so to speak, when he got out of here. He had seldom done any fighting himself, being the bookish sort, but he had stabbed Dean Winchester to death in a rare and wonderful testosterone-fuelled moment. Imagine how crestfallen he'd felt when his one big act of heroism had turned out to be a lie. True, Dean had turned Demon for a while and, though that had been kind of fun to hear about, Metatron had been locked away in the Angel prison and unable to witness any of it.

He sat back down on his bunk, sighing. Metatron was a pariah in Heaven now, the most hated guy since Lucifer, and it made him sad. He was just misunderstood. His motivations for attempting to take over Heaven had been good and pure. Hadn't he been the one to create the portal that led back to Heaven, when no one else could? And if he were to lead the Angels once they were all back where they belonged, where they all wanted to be, then what of it? God had abdicated and His flock needed a leader. They could do a lot worse than him, Metatron reasoned. He was highly intelligent, self-educated, and only too happy to step in and fill the void.

He was not the bad guy he'd been made out to be. The only reason he had stabbed Dean was to prevent Dean from spoiling his plans. And yes, he had taken Castiel's Grace from him in order to facilitate the fall of the Angels from Heaven in the first place. But it had all been part of the master plan. Metatron himself had transcribed the tablets as per God's own instructions. And if he had taken certain liberties with the wording, well...that was a writer's job, wasn't it?

Then God had gone on vacay and Heaven had fallen into anarchy, war, and then with Metatron's help, just fallen. But he had been there to pick up the pieces and reunite the factions, and what thanks did he get for it? Thrown here in jail to rot while God's Golden Boy Castiel got all the glory and the rewards.

Fortunately, Metatron had a pipeline to the outside. He had been allowed regular visitations after pleading cruel and unusual punishment by being stuck here in solitary confinement and mercifully, God had relented. Metatron recalled how frightened he'd been when he'd heard that God had suddenly come back and retaken the reins. What did this mean for him? But luckily, things had remained status quo and God had been merciful enough to allow Metatron to receive visitors. Somewhat tellingly, the only one who had come to see him so far had been the Prophet, Chuck.

Metatron had been surprised at first, but after some conversation he had realized they were of the same mind. Suspecting their exchanges were being listened to, he had chosen his words carefully and noticed that Chuck was doing the same. But he could tell there was a common thread, a united mindset. Even though Chuck was hardly the sharpest card in the catalog, Metatron thought he could be very useful. Besides, a Prophet and a Scribe? It was a marriage made in...well, you know. Metatron smiled to himself; he loved wordplay.

So Metatron laid down on his bunk and closed his eyes, content to bide his time for the moment. There was much more to be written.

ROWENA, 1.1

Rowena opened the bag containing her son's bones, spreading them out onto the altar. Then she lit the candles that were placed all around the edges of the table and brought out the ingredients of the potion.

As she mixed the potion, Rowena hummed a tune, a lullaby she remembered that was centuries old. Maybe she'd even sung it to Fergus when he was a baby. Before she had decided that single motherhood was a drag, and had taken off for greener pastures. She'd even tried to sell him before she left, but sadly, no takers.

So what was she doing here, mixing the potion that would bring him back? As she added the last ingredient, Rowena hesitated. Did she really want to open up that can of worms again? When she and Fergus, who'd called himself Crowley in present times, had co-existed before, she had planned to kill him and usurp his throne. Unfortunately, the Winchesters and Castiel had beaten her to it. And she was pretty sure that her son had had devious thoughts in mind for her as well.

So why was Rowena on the verge of bringing him back? The simple answer was, of course, because she could.

The subtext was much more complicated. She supposed she did feel some love for him, after all. Or more likely, a measure of respect. Her son, the King of Hell. Before everything had gone sideways, she had been proud of him, proud of his accomplishments. And she now realized that he could be an ally in her fight to reclaim Gail and her powers. She planned to make Gail into a Knight of Hell, and with her powers and Rowena's own, they'd be unstoppable. Gail had so much potential, and Rowena was eager to mentor her. What good was living thousands of years without any goals, nothing to look forward to?

But her son...before she poured the potion over his bones, Rowena hesitated once more. She could manipulate him easily enough, but she'd only been able to be around him for so long in his past existences. Could she co-exist with Crowley for as long as it took?

Rowena considered her priorities and then poured the potion she had made over her son's bones. Maybe she'd even call him Crowley, on special occasions.

CASTIEL, 1.1

Castiel smiled as Gail disappeared, then re-appeared, in the apartment they were sharing.

"Very good," he praised her. He knew that becoming an Angel had been a difficult transition for her, but she would get the hang of it eventually. When chosen humans died and became Angels, the transition was usually harder for them, because they didn't have the knowledge or the background that Gail had.

And she was eager to learn, and to embrace her new purpose, and he was glad.

DEAN AND SAM, 1.1

The Winchester brothers were at the table in the bunker, having coffee. It had been a few days since they had returned to their lives, and they were kind of at loose ends. Castiel and Gail were in the wind, Crowley was dead, and they had their lives back. It was over. Wasn't it? Yes, Rowena was still out there somewhere, but if she left them alone they'd leave her alone. For now.

Sam was on the computer, clicking away but finding nothing of interest. He was actually relieved; he felt that he and Dean needed some time off to process what had happened over the last couple of months. To regroup. So maybe he wasn't searching as hard as he could for a case. It wasn't the end of the world.

Dean, on the other hand, was starting to feel antsy. He had started to prowl around the place like a caged tiger. The bunker felt like home, true enough, the only place he'd felt comfortable living in since their family home all those years ago. But he was used to taking action, not resting, and the silence was starting to get on his nerves. Truth be told, he thought everything had worked out a bit too neatly. He had spent nearly all of his life waiting for the other shoe to drop, and Dean had the feeling that when it did, he and Sammy would need all of their skills to survive. They had blown their last chance at immortality.

CASTIEL, 1.2

Gail was growing by leaps and bounds ever since her first foray into the experience of being an Angel.

They had been walking back home, enjoying the night air, when she and Castiel had come upon a homeless man, sitting in the alleyway. He had looked up at them forlornly, extending his hand. Gail leaned down to him as Castiel watched. His experiences as a human had taught Castiel that there were some humans who genuinely needed a helping hand, but some others who were looking to take advantage. God had made an assortment when He'd made the human race.

So Castiel watched, curious to see what Gail would do. As Angels on Earth, they had enough money to work within the confines of social convention, but not an excess of it. Gail was free to do whatever she felt, theirs was an equal partnership, but he hoped she wasn't being taken advantage of.

Gail put her hand gently on the man's forehead and said, "You can go home now. Your daughter's been looking for you, and she forgives you."

When Gail removed her hand, the man looked at her with an expression of wonder. He scrambled to his feet. "How did you know?" he asked her.

"Because I know you're basically a good person who's just had a hard time of it lately," she replied. Then Gail smiled. "And by the way, your daaughter's a good person, too. You had a disagreement, so what? It happens with families sometimes. Go home and make it right. Life's too short."

Gail smiled back at Castiel as the man hurried off. "I just - had a feeling," she told him. "I guess this is one of the perks of the job, right?"

He looked at her shining eyes and smiled back. He loved her so much.

SAM AND DEAN, 1.2

A couple of days later, Sam got a hit on the computer. But it wasn't a case. It was worse, much worse.

"Dean!" he called out.

Dean came down the hall. "What?"

"Jody's been shot." Sam sat back from the computer in shock.

Dean hurried over and stood behind Sam, looking at the computer screen. There was a photo of their friend Jody Mills, a Sheriff, who had been shot in the line of duty. Dean leaned forward to read the article. When he finished he said to Sam, "What the hell? Some kid picks up a gun that was lying under a set of swings in a playground, then turns around and shoots her with it?"

"That's what it says," Sam nodded.

"Gotta be a case," Dean said.

Sam sighed. He tended to agree. Had the kid been possessed by a Demon? He supposed it could be just a weird accident, but in their world, such things were rare. And this attack on their friend felt personal.

"Let's go," he said to Dean.

GOD, 1.1

God was very busy, of course, but He kept an eye on the events taking place on Earth when He had time.

He had watched the scene in the alleyway, and was happy to see how well Gail's education was coming along. She had used her Angel powers in exactly the right way, and was well on her way to becoming a favourite of His.

By extension, His confidence in His Son Castiel was proving to be well-founded. Castiel knew when to instruct and when to sit back and let Gail's instincts take over. God was glad He had taken the path of mercy rather than anger when it came to dealing with Castiel. When He'd first called the pair of them into His office, God had admittedly been wrathful. Gail had pulled quite the stunt in the Garden, and Castiel had not only taken the blame on himself, but had subsequently told the Winchesters the whole story. Something God Himself had forbidden him to do. Free will was perhaps something to be considered in the larger scheme of things, but too much of it led to chaos. Look at the mess that had happened in Heaven while He had been away.

But when Castiel and Gail had been ushered into His office, they had looked so contrite, and He had admired the way they had stood up to Him on each other's behalf. And God had always favoured Castiel. He wasn't quite sure why He had such a soft spot for this particular Son; was it the face? The eyes? The soft underbelly beneath the tough exterior? Who knew?

God turned back to his desk, where the paperwork was piling up. He sighed. He had come back to make a difference, not to be a pencil pusher. And He had made a difference; order in Heaven had been restored. But every once in a while, He felt a pang of wanderlust. Maybe this was why He also had a soft spot for the Winchesters.

ROWENA, 1.2

Rowena was uncertain if her spell would even work. As she poured her potion over her son's bones and murmured the ancient spell, she forgot the last few words. Damn! Had this all been for nothing?

But the bones hissed and crackled; then they started to move, as if reassembling themselves.

Rowena stood back as billows of black smoke issued forth from the table. She waited patiently, as a shape seemed to be forming from behind all the smoke. Once it started to clear, she could make out the shape of a man lying on the table.

She drew nearer, looking down at the man. He was naked, pasty, and looked like death warmed over. Which, of course, was exactly accurate.

For modesty's sake, Rowena waved her arm and dressed her son in pants and a shirt. "Fergus?" she said tentatively.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. They were bloodshot, of course. He'd been an alcoholic in life, a wastrel with a mundane job and a surly attitude. She was regretting this already.

This was her son, but he was not the formidable adversary Crowley had been. But she'd had a plan for this, as well. Once Castiel had stabbed her son to death back in the den, Rowena had appeared in the room just after the men had left. She was only there for a moment, telling herself that she was just there to make sure he was dead. But she must have had something in mind even back then, because she had disappeared from the den before the explosion occurred, taking his vessel with her.

And now she knew why. Only as Crowley could her son command the respect and fear she needed in her corner. So she performed another spell, giving Fergus back his costume.

Crowley turned his head to look at her, then sat up, swinging his legs off the table.

"Hello, Mother," he said in a casual tone, as if he wasn't the least bit surprised. "Let's go, then."

Rowena and Crowley appeared back in Hell. Much like Heaven had a while back, Hell had fallen into total chaos, with Demons killing each other by the hundreds in the battle for supremacy.

"This has got to stop," Crowley told Rowena. "There won't be a kingdom to rule if we lose many more."

"You'll have to restore order, then," she retorted.

He sighed. "It would appear so."

They walked into the office Crowley had used when not on Earth. It was an elegant room, lushly furnished, with a wet bar and a huge mahogany desk at the far end. He had missed the place; as a businessman at heart, it was where he'd felt the most at home.

Crowley moved around behind the desk and sat in his chair as Rowena sat in one of the big armchairs across from him. Her son took a deep breath, then punched the speaker button on the phone, broadcasting his voice for all the denizens of Hell to hear.

"All fighting will cease immediately," he commanded. "Every Knight will report to me in my office, now." He sat back, savouring the moment, and tented his fingers, saying softly, "Daddy's home."

Rowena smiled.

GAIL, 1.1

She was missing Sam and Dean and wanted to know how they were doing, so Gail told Castiel they should go back to the bunker. They appeared in the middle of the library room just as the brothers were preparing to leave.

"Holy crap," Dean said, startled. "Now you're both doing it."

"Sorry, Dean," Gail smiled, "but I'm supposed to practice." OK, that wasn't strictly true; she just liked doing it.

She walked up to Dean and gave him a hug. "I've missed you guys."

"You almost did miss us," Sam said, walking into the room. "Hey, Cas." He and Gail shared a hug. "We're heading out on the road."

Sam told Cas and Gail about Jody's shooting. Gail felt badly about their friend, but Castiel's alarm bells were going off.

"Do you think a Demon might be involved?" he asked the brothers.

"It's a possibility," Dean replied. "It just sounds too weird."

"Well then, I'd better go with you," Castiel said briskly. "Gail, you should stay here until we return."

"What do you mean, I should stay here?" she asked, annoyed. "I'm going with you."

"No, you'll be safer here," Castiel insisted.

Now Gail was more than annoyed. "I'm an Angel, aren't I?" she retorted. "I thought that was the whole point, to help!"

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. This was turning into something they were pretty sure they wanted to stay out of.

"We'll be-" Dean gestured - "loading the car."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, "We'll wait ten minutes, then we'll get going. You two work it out and we'll see you out there." He looked at their faces. "Or not."

Awkward. The brothers left the room in a hurry.

Castiel moved to Gail and took both of her hands in his, but she shook free.

"Please understand-" he started to say, but Gail interrupted him.

"But I DON'T understand!" she exclaimed. "Look, if you want to go out on a road trip with the boys, just say so. The Three Musketeers ride again. Fine. But I was under the impression I was here to DO something, not just sit around!"

He looked upset, and she felt bad for raising her voice to him. Castiel had been nothing but kind and patient since their return to Earth. He was good to her, courtly and polite, and here she was, yelling at him. But she had a point to make. She was not here to be window-dressing.

"You're not ready yet," Castiel replied in a steady voice. "If a Demon is involved, we'd be putting you in danger." He sighed. "I was hoping to put it off as long as possible."

"Put what off?" she asked, puzzled.

"Teaching you how to fight," he said, frowning. His eyes were sad, but his stare was penetrating. "How to kill."

Her heart sank. Hadn't she known on some level that this would have to be part of her training? Crowley might be dead, but there were still plenty of Demons and other monsters out there.

Gail felt ashamed. He was right. "I'm sorry," she said, taking his hand back. "I guess I still have a lot to learn, about a lot of things."

He gave her a hug, and a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

She nodded. "Be safe. And keep Sam and Dean safe too, OK?"

"Always." They exchanged a smile. Then his expression turned serious. "When I get back, I'll show you how to use a blade."

He winked out of the room, leaving an apprehensive and thoughtful Gail behind.

DEAN, SAM AND CASTIEL, 1.1

Cas appeared in the back seat of the Impala just as Dean was preparing to pull out of the garage.

Feeling his presence, Dean turned around to look at Cas. He smirked. "Trouble with the Missus?" Dean teased.

Cas's brow furrowed. He got that Dean was ribbing him, but was still troubled at the prospect of teaching Gail to kill. He knew she was reluctant to harm another being; it just wasn't in her true nature. Truth be told, it wasn't really in Castiel's nature either, though he'd killed many times over since the Angel wars. But when Gail thought she'd killed a human child back in Crowley's den, she'd become suicidal. Of course, there was a distinction between cold-blooded murder and a justifiable killing. Wasn't there?

"Earth to Cas," Sam said, snapping Castiel out of his thoughts.

Right. He needed to focus. So Cas gave Dean a wry look and said, "Very funny. Let's go."

Dean pulled out of the garage and they hit the road.

"So Gail's staying behind at the bunker, then?" Sam asked.

"Yes, it's the best place for her," Cas replied. "I wanted her to be under the Men of Letters' protections until we get back. Just in case," he finished lamely. Cas wasn't sure what exactly was concerning him, but if they were off to investigate Demon activity, he wanted her shielded. The fact that it was a friend of the Winchesters who had been shot was not lost on him.

"Cas, you know she needs to learn how to fight, right?" Dean said.

"Or at least to defend herself," Sam added.

Cas sighed. "Yes, I know. Perhaps I can enlist your help in that when we get back."

"Sure, Cas," Dean said in a softer voice. Since the Mark of Cain had been removed from his arm, he'd become a lot more introspective. He no longer saw killing as a necessity. If he had to do it, he would, but he now felt that every gratuitous murder he'd committed while under the Mark's influence had diminished him in some way. While he would never lose his edge, Dean wanted to become a better man. Though if it had been a Demon who had shot Jody, that son of a bitch was going down, he vowed grimly.

Sam was willing to help train Gail in combat, remembering how hard it had been for him at first. Even before Dean had acquired the Mark, violence had seemed to be Dean's go-to response, but Sam had often found himself at odds with this approach. Sure, sometimes there was no choice. When you dealt with the kind of monsters they had encountered in their travels, often it was best to stab first and ask questions later. But he had felt sympathy for some of the humans they had met who'd been turned into monsters through no fault of their own. And as long as these individuals kept their promise not to harm any humans, Sam had in a few instances convined his brother to spare them.

So Sam knew that hunting sometimes had to be tempered with mercy, and killing was not always the right answer. But Gail needed to be able to defend herself, at the very least. Too much compassion could get you killed. And though she was an Angel now, that didn't mean Gail was invincible. He'd seen plenty of Angels tortured and killed, and not always by Demons. Cas himself had been killed by a Reaper when he was a human, and had once again been at death's door when Metatron had taken most of his Grace. So being an Angel didn't give you a free pass. Gail was like a sister to Sam now, and he was damn sure going to do whatever he could to help her protect herself.

The three men hit the highway, talking about the potential case and catching up on the events of the past few days. Sam had sent a text to Jody immediately after the shooting and she now texted him back, saying she was OK. The hospital was keeping her for another couple of days just to be on the safe side, but she was out of the woods now and eager to go home. Sam texted her that he was glad to hear it, but they were coming anyway.

Their spirits lifted by the positive news, the brothers resumed their teasing of Cas and the nature of his relationship with Gail. He took it good-naturedly, welcoming the return to normalcy. It was good to be on the road again with these two. Though the reason for the trip continued to concern him. Was Jody's shooting just a tragic accident, or were the Winchesters and their friends being targeted?

AURIELLE, 1.1

Aurielle sat at her desk, sighing. She had really wanted to finish today's work but the day had gotten away from her. She had seen most of her fellow Angels leave for the day and had assured them that she too would be leaving any moment. But the numbers just weren't working out and she dawdled, trying to figure out where she'd gone wrong, until her last co-worker had left for the day.

Sighing again, Aurielle gave up. She'd have to look at everything again with fresh eyes tomorrow. She started packing up for the night and was nearly finished when she saw a figure pass by over her cubicle wall.

Curious, she stood and watched as the man walked to the Executive Wing and proceeded down the hall. She now recognized him as the Prophet, Chuck. What was he doing?

Aurielle couldn't help herself. She followed him quietly, peeking around the corner, and gasped softly when she saw him entering Metatron's former office. As far as she knew, the place was restricted. A memo had been circulated stating that access to this office was strictly forbidden. But Chuck was the Prophet. Was he exempt?

It wasn't for her to say, Aurielle thought. She was just one of the many worker bees and though she secretly longed for a promotion, this corridor held the offices of the Angels on High. She shouldn't be here. Metatron had been in their company before his disgrace and subsequent jail term. She wasn't privy to many of the details, but there had been enough gossip and rumours to lead her to the conclusion that association with Metatron, however remote, was not a good thing.

Her legs moved as if of their own accord and took her down the hallway. If she could just get one peek into the office, just to see what it looked like. She imagined it would be spectacular. She'd probably never get a chance like this again.

So Aurielle crept down the hallway and cautiously peered around the corner into Metatron's office. Chuck had left the door open, thinking he was alone; and in his haste to retrieve the manuscript from the safe, Chuck had not taken the time to close the door behind him.

Aurielle watched as Chuck hurried to the far wall beside the desk. He stopped beside a bookcase that was pushed up against the wall, then looked back towards the open office door. She pulled her head back, startled. There was something furtive about his demeanour that was making her even more nervous, and she didn't want to be seen.

Fortunately, it appeared that she hadn't been detected, as a moment later when she'd plucked up the nerve to take another peek, Chuck had turned away from the door. He pulled the bookcase away from the wall at an angle and opened the safe, using the combination that Metatron had given him.

The safe swing open and Chuck retrieved the copy of the Winchester Prophecies he'd hidden there. This was the only remaining copy, and he wanted it with him. Chuck was very possessive of his prophecies, and this particular manuscript would be of great interest to certain parties. While he would protect it with his life from falling into the wrong hands, that didn't mean he couldn't - let a few details slip - for the right price, of course.

Chuck knew from his visits with Metatron that the latter was very interested in the prophecies, especially when Chuck had intentionally let it slip that his new friend Metatron figured prominently in them. There was trouble ahead, and lots of it, for the Winchester brothers, Chuck had foretold. Also for their buddy Castiel and their new Angel friend, Gail. Chuck had never met her, but assumed she had been the one who'd been sitting next to Castiel in God's office. So that probably meant she was now one of God's special little Angels. Too bad for her.

He closed the safe and moved the bookcase back to its original spot, being careful to leave no sign that it had been moved. Aurielle took this as her cue to leave, and hurried back to her cubicle.

She put her head down at her desk, pretending to be engrossed in her work, and saw Chuck pass by out of the corner of her eye. He did not seem to notice her, and Aurielle was relieved. She wondered what those papers were he had in his hand. It was probably none of her business, but something about it just felt strange to her.

Aurielle had worked at this same desk at this same mundane job for years now, and she was ambitious and smart but no one ever seemed to notice her here, let alone give her any praise or recognition. She wondered if what she'd just seen was significant enough to change all that. But, what HAD she just seen?

Aurielle gave it a few more minutes, then left the office. She saw no one. She was just glad that Chuck hadn't seen her. The guy was creepy, and he knew way too much about everyone. To question God's judgement was blasphemy, but she'd secretly wondered why he had chosen Chuck, of all people, to be the Prophet. Why couldn't it have been someone else? Like, say, Castiel? Every female Angel she knew, herself included, had a major crush on Castiel, and she suspected a few of the male Angels did as well. He was just so...dreamy. But he was Upper Echelon and she was just a drone, too plain and too boring to ever be noticed by the likes of him. And the latest rumour going around was that he was "involved" with a new Angel named Gail, though in what capacity, no one seemed to know.

Aurielle left the office, determined to keep an eye on Chuck if she could. He probably wouldn't notice her; no one else ever did. But she would keep her eyes and ears open.

But Chuck had seen her. She'd had her head down, appearing to be concentrating on something. But he thought he'd heard a sound behind him while he was in Metatron's office, and he wondered if she had been spying on him. Chuck had glanced at the nameplate on her cubicle wall on his way by and saw the name "Aurielle". He had never heard of her, but she was obviously a lower-ranked Angel and therefore not likely to be a threat.

Still, he made a mental note to make some inquiries about her in the morning.

SAM, DEAN AND CASTIEL, 1.2

Dean pulled the Impala into the hospital parking lot and the three men got out. Sam stretched and groaned; it had been a while since they'd been on the road and he'd been nodding off.

"Sorry," he said to the others.

"You all right there, Sammy?" Dean sadid sarcastically. "Need a nap?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Let's go."

Dean and Sam entered the hospital, Castiel trailing behind them. Hospitals always made Cas a little edgy. He could feel the pain and sickness within its walls and it was all a bit overwhelming. But he pushed on, following the Winchesters to their friend Jody's room.

Jody sat up straighter in bed as the men entered.

"Hey, guys," she said brightly. "You didn't have to come. I told you, I'm fine." She winced slightly as she sat up, but covered it with a smile.

Sam approached her bedside. "Where did you get shot?" he asked.

"In the park," she deadpanned.

They smiled at each other. She had always felt closer to Sam than to Dean, though Jody liked both of the brothers.

She lifted up her T-shirt and showed them the bandage wrapped around her midsection. "One inch higher and the vest would've caught it," she grimaced.

"But you're gonna be OK?" Dean asked her, moving to the other side of the bed.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Jody said. "I've had worse."

Cas said, "Was it a Demon that shot you?"

Jody raised her eyebrows.

Dean looked at Cas. "Have you met Captain Subtle here?" he said to Jody.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," Jody grinned. "Let me see...tan trenchcoat, serious expression...must be Castiel."

He looked a little taken aback, but as he saw the smiles on Dean and Sam, Castiel smiled too. "Hello," he said to Jody. Then, "I'm sorry."

"It's OK, I'm a Sheriff, I can appreciate people who get to the point," Jody replied cheerfully. She'd heard about Cas from the brothers and had been curious to see what an Angel would look like. But he just looked like a man. Of course, he was in human form; she wouldn't have been able to look at him in his true form. But he was obviously here to help, and he looked concerned, so she continued, "I don't really know. I had entered the park to look for a robbery suspect and I was walking by the playground when I saw a young boy standing by the swings with a gun in his hand. I approached him slowly, afraid he'd hurt himself with it, and the next thing I knew, the gun went off and I went down. By the time I pulled out my radio to call for help, he was gone."

The Winchesters and Castiel exchanged glances. Not much to go on.

"Any witnesses?" Dean asked her.

"Not that I could see," Jody replied. "Sorry I'm not much help. By the time my backup arrived, I was out cold."

Silence. Where did they go from here? Was this just a child picking up a gun he had found and accidentally pulling the trigger?

"The gun was recovered and ballistics is tracing it now," Jody added. "If we find out anything suspicious, I'll let you know. Guess you wasted a trip."

"Hey, we got to see you, didn't we?" Sam said, smiling. "Good to see you're going to be OK." He squeezed her hand briefly and she squeezed back.

"OK, get outta here, you guys," she said. "I need my beauty sleep."

"Should we stick around town for a couple of days?" Dean said, almost hopefully.

"Nah," she replied, yawning. Those painkillers really were making her kind of sleepy. "I'll call you if there's anything to report."

"Bye, Jodes," Sam said as the men left the room.

Jody smiled as she drifted off to sleep. Only Sam could get away with calling her that. She was lucky to have the Winchester brothers as friends.

The three men left the hospital building and stood around the car. Dean was reluctant to get in and just go home.

"Am I being paranoid, guys?" he asked Sam and Castiel.

"Not necessarily," Sam mused. His brow furrowed in concentration. "But I don't really know where we go from here."

Dean shrugged. "Home, I guess."

The brothers and Castiel got into the car and began the trip back home. It was a quiet ride, the silence broken only by the music on the radio. Each of the three men was lost in thought and they were all thinking basically the same thing: This isn't over.

METATRON, 1.2

Metatron smiled ingratiatingly at Chuck. They were sitting across the table from each other and though he was still cuffed and shackled, Metatron had been in Angel prison long enough now that his guards had grown more relaxed around him. He had a bad reputation, but the guy was a bit of a wuss, really. The only one who ever came to see him was Chuck, and Metatron was so pathetically eager for the company that his guards had taken to leaving the two of them alone in the visitors' room. They stood just outside the door, of course, but where was he going to go? These Angel guards took their jobs seriously, but it was a bit hard to see this nebbish little guy as the maniac everyone made him out to be.

Metatron knew this, of course, and went to great lengths to perpetuate his sad-sack image. He knew himself to be a great writer, now it seemed that he had some acting chops, as well. He threw himself into the role with great gusto, looking forward to the day when he could exact his revenge on everyone, Angel or human, who had dismissed and defied him.

His role was already paying dividends. The guards had left him alone with Chuck in the visitors' room, closing the door behind them. And while he was sure that their conversations were being monitored by other means, Metatron was pretty sure that if they were careful, they would be able to truly communicate with each other.

"How are you doing?" Chuck asked, sitting down across the table. He too had noticed the guards' departure and raised an eyebrow to Metatron as part of their practiced non-verbal communication.

Metatron smiled briefly, then continued his act for the benefit of whomever might be listening.

"Lonely," he said in answer to Chuck's question. "I know this punishment is what I deserve, but I do appreciate the company. More than you know."

Metatron glanced at the window of the visitors' room door but saw no one looking in, so he flashed Chuck another brief smile and extended his hand, palm out, being careful to move slowly and not rattle the chains.

Chuck took a brief look back at the door himself, then removed the folded piece of paper he'd stashed down the front of his pants and put it in Metatron's hand. The guards had searched him for any weapons before ushering him into the visitors' room, but no one was going to grope the One True Prophet, so Chuck had considered it an acceptable risk.

Metatron closed the hand with the piece of paper in it and slowly moved his arm off the table, stashing the note in his own pants. He'd be searched after Chuck left, but the friskings were cursory these days and he didn't think it would be much of a problem.

He and Chuck kept up appearances by making small talk for a few more minutes and then Chuck left. The guards did search Metatron before escorting him back to his cell, but it was a casual pat-down for weapons and Chuck's message was not found.

Metatron waited until he was alone, then carefully extracted the piece of paper Chuck had given him and unfolded it to read. He felt safe enough; once he was back in solitary, he was generally left to his own devices.

"I've retrieved the Prophecies," Chuck had written. "Will contact our ally to make arrangements. More soon."

That was it. Metatron frowned. He was hoping for a more definitive message; he was growing tired of waiting.

But it wasn't like he had a lot of choice in the matter. At least there were "arrangements" in the works. He sat back on his bunk, visualizing his return to Earth. He couldn't wait to see the looks on Dean and Sam's faces, not to mention Castiel's, when he made his triumphant comeback.

ROWENA, 1.3

When she and her son had marched back into Hell, Rowena had been impressed with Crowley and the brutal and decisive way he'd retaken the reins. He'd called a meeting of the Knights and, though they were small in number, the three that remained had pledged their continued loyalty to him and professed to be glad he was alive.

Crowley had never trusted any of the Knights. Abbadon had been a Knight, and look that had turned out. They were ruthless, which was certainly a point in their favour, but also ambitious, which spelled potential danger for him. Knights were infinitely more powerful than regular Demons and therefore had an inflated sense of self-importance in the scheme of things. All Demons were afraid of them, which was fine, but there could be only one King and he had to be sure that his Knights were still on board.

As the Knights walked into the throne room, Crowley eyed them coolly.

"Has order been restored, then?" he asked.

A tall, broad-shouldered vessel stepped forward. He had taken the name of Dominic, and he appeared to speak for all three.

"Yes, my King." He smiled and puffed out his chest proudly. "We have taken care of all those who stood against you, and we are happy to serve."

Rowena was standing behind her son and leaned down to whisper in his ear. "This is the one called Dominic?" she asked.

He nodded, annoyed at the interruption. He was holding court here.

"He has been plotting against you," Rowena said softly. She did not bother to whisper this time, wanting to provoke a response.

And Dominic did not disappoint. "She is a liar!" he roared, pointing his finger at Rowena.

"Are you calling my mother a liar?" Crowley asked softly, menacingly.

"Yes...I mean, no..." Dominic stammered, not sure how to answer. What the woman was accusing him of was treason, punishable by death, so he'd be crazy to admit to anything. But how the hell had she known?

Crowley saw the flash in Dominic's eyes, and that was good enough for him. Liar or not, his mother had helped to expose a traitor and an example had to be set.

He stood from the throne and walked down the steps to where Dominic stood, with the other two Knights on either side of him.

"That's OK," he told Dominic in a reassuring voice, "My mother IS a liar."

Rowena's eyes widened. What was he trying to pull?

Crowley continued, "But that doesn't mean she's wrong." He pulled out a blade from his inside jacket pocket and drove it into Dominic's chest, killing him instantly.

He withdrew the blade as Dominic's empty vessel dropped to the floor. Crowley looked at the other two Knights, eyebrows raised. "Anyone else care to call my mother a liar?"

They looked at each other, terror-stricken, and Rowena smiled. It was her intention to weed out the "old guard" Knights and replace them with ones who would pledge their loyalty to her, and this was a good start. However, until replacements were in place, she supposed they'd better hang on to these two.

"It's all right, son," she said in a sweet voice. "All is forgiven." She gave the remaining Knights a false, wide smile, making sure they got the point that it was her words that had spared them.

DEAN, 1.1

Dean was growing more restless and agitated with every day that passed. There were no new cases coming in, and it seemed like things were too peaceful to be true.

So he passed the time trying to catch up on his sleep, but found himself wandering the halls at all hours. He tried to eat more regular meals, but found he had no appetite. They had set up one of the spare rooms as a gym, and Dean spent much of his time there, blasting music and lifting weights.

Dean had only ever pretended to be a cop, so he may not have been able to articulate the way he was feeling; cops called it "hinky". The instincts he'd developed from his years of hunting were telling Dean that something was wrong, even though there was no evidence to support the feeling.

He was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

CASTIEL, 1.3

Castiel was sitting outside Chuck's office, waiting to be called in. He'd received the call from Chuck himself on Angel Radio this morning, saying that it was urgent that he speak to Castiel and Castiel alone. Now Castiel was cooling his heels outside the office doors after having rushed up here.

He thought it was odd, Chuck summoning him like that. They had never had much association with each other. He'd met Chuck a few years ago through the Winchesters when Chuck had been assigned to Earth to write his prophecies as a series of fictional novels based on Sam and Dean's lives. God had thought this amusing, and was curious to see how humans reacted to real prophecies packaged as pulp fiction. But the experiment had worked all too well, spawning a cult of humans called a "fandom" that hung on every word of the books and lived their lives according to their contents. So God had pulled the plug, instructing Chuck to end the series. God had long disapproved of cults, many of which had been formed under the guise of serving Him, only to twist and pervert the ideals. Even though this "fandom" seemed harmless enough as cults went, God still felt the humans involved were a little too fervent. So He'd put the kibosh on the Winchester novels. But it wasn't Chuck's fault, not really, he'd only been doing his job. So God took pity on him and had allowed him to come to Heaven to continue his work.

Chuck opened the door to his office. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he said to Castiel. He wasn't sorry at all, of course. "Come in, come in."

Castiel entered Chuck's office as Chuck closed the doore behind them. Chuck crossed over to sit in the chair behind his desk while Castiel sat in the chair across from him.

"How are you, Castiel?" Chuck asked pleasantly.

Castiel frowned. He wasn't really in the mood to exchange pleasantries.

"What was so urgent that my presence here was required?" he asked.

Chuck felt a flash of annoyance. Not even a hello. Who the hell did this guy think he was, that his time was so much more important than anyone else's?

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," he said tartly. Castiel continued to stare at him, saying nothing, until Chuck felt uncomfortable enough to continue speaking. "OK, OK, I'll get to the point. I've been to visit with Metatron."

Castiel was startled. "Why?"

"I just thought the poor guy could use some company," Chuck said casually.

Castiel's temper began to rise. "'The poor guy'?" he exclaimed. "You of all people know the things he's done, the - treason - " he sputtered in his outrage. What could Chuck possibly be thinking? Metatron was dangerous, prisoner or not, a master manipulator. Castiel himself had been duped by Metatron and had paid a hefty price for it, was still paying. Though order had been restored in Heaven and God had returned to take the reins, Castiel could sense the resentment and suspicion towards him from the longer-serving Angels. The only reason he was not shown overt hostility was that he was known to be one of God's favourites. So, yes, Castiel knew all too well it was inadvisable to keep company with Metatron.

"He's not so bad," Chuck said, needling Castiel. He was enjoying this. "He's just lonely. I think he needs a friend. I thought the philosophy around here was to forgive."

Castiel was seething. Forgive? Some things were unforgivable.

"He is a megalomaniac who presumed to think he was God," he said, teeth clenched.

"Sounds kind of familiar, doesn't it, Cas?" Chuck smirked.

Castiel launched himself across the desk then, grabbing Chuck by the shirt front with both hands. His eyes flashed bright blue. "Make. Your. Point." His face was inches away from Chuck's and Chuck felt a thrill of terror. He'd pushed too hard. The intel he'd received that Castiel had gone soft was clearly wrong.

"I'm sorry, my Brother, I shouldn't have said that," Chuck quickly apologized.

After one more contemptuous look at Chuck, Castiel released him and retook his seat. He took a deep breath, trying to suppress his anger. 'Brother'. This guy was getting cozy with Metatron and he was calling Castiel 'Brother'?

"Why did you call me here?" Castiel growled.

Just then, there was a timid knock on the office door.

"Come in," Chuck called, glad of the break. Maybe it would give Castiel the chance to calm down.

A female Angel entered the office carrying a file folder. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, sir," she said, walking to the desk. "I was asked to bring this to you immediately for your signature." She extended the file folder for Chuck to take, then looked sidelong at Castiel.

"I - I'm sorry," she said again, stammering.

"Castiel, this is Aurielle," Chuck motioned with his pen. "She's been transferred to my transcriptions department."

Castiel stood, as he always did when being introduced to a female. He extended his hand in greeting. "Hello, Aurielle."

She took his hand. "Hello," she said shyly. Wow, they weren't kidding; he was even better-looking up close.

"OK, all signed up," Chuck pronounced, extending the file folder for Aurielle to take. But she couldn't seem to move. She continued to hold onto Castiel's hand, staring at his face. Savouring the moment. Wait till she told the girls.

Chuck cleared his throat. "Aurielle? Having a meeting here," he said pointedly. Secretly, he was amused. He'd sought out Aurielle after the night he'd been to Metatron's office; after making some inquiries, Chuck had thought she was the type of Angel he could use on his team. She was timid and mousy and he thought she could be easily led. So Chuck had requested a transfer for her, to his own team. She'd seemed grateful and had vowed to work hard for him during their orientation meeting. Knowing from his intel that Aurielle would be in awe of Castiel, and wanting her to see that he had friends in high places, Chuck had prearranged this interruption. And now, seeing the moony look on her face, Chuck felt justified in his choice. This was something he could use.

Aurielle backed away from Castiel and took the file folder from Chuck. "Thanks. Sorry," she said again, with one more glance at Castiel, then hurried out of the office, closing the door behind her.

"Sweet girl," Chuck said to Castiel. "Shy."

Castiel sighed inwardly. Aurielle's interruption was timely as it had helped him to rein in his temper, but Chuck was sorely trying his patience.

"Tell me why you called me here," he said again.

I'd better stop playing around, Chuck thought. This guy looks like he could blow again any minute. So he got to the point: "Metatron is planning to escape."

Castiel snapped to attention. "What has he told you?"

"Nothing," Chuck insisted, holding up his hands.

"Then how do you know?"

"It was in the Prophecies," Chuck replied, thinking: Yeah, the Prophecies you burned. You could have been prepared for what's to come if you'd only taken a minute to read what I wrote. Dumbass.

Castiel was confused. "The Prophecies you wrote?"

Chuck nodded. Way to go, Sherlock, he thought. But he put on an earnest expression and leaned forward. "Yes. I was shown that he would make an escape attempt, but not shown whether he'll be successful." This was not true, of course, at least the latter part. But it was what Chuck needed Castiel to believe. He continued, "God shields certain things from my eyes. So I don't know if Metatron will be successful. But I thought I'd better let you know."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "If he is your friend, why are you telling me this?"

"I didn't say he was my friend," Chuck replied. "I just said I went to see him a few times." He paused, then pushed on, selling it: "I was curious to see if he had any remorse. I know of all the horrible things he's done, to Heaven, and to you. We're on the same side here, Castiel."

Castiel sat back in his chair, considering. He didn't trust Chuck, of course, but couldn't see why Chuck would tell him about this unless he was trying to do the right thing. So he took the bait.

"I'll need as many details as you can give me about his escape plans," he said to Chuck, leaning forward. "He must be stopped."

AURIELLE, 1.2

Aurielle went back to her desk and dropped the empty file folder on it, then sat down quickly in her chair. Her knees were shaking.

Chuck had told her that Castiel was a friend of his, and he could arrange for her to meet Castiel in person, and he had been as good as his word. He'd told her to bring something into his office for him to sign as a pretext, so it didn't look pre-arranged.

She'd been nervous all morning, checking the time every few minutes, until Chuck had hit her buzzer and advised her that Castiel was waiting outside his office. "Give us ten minutes," Chuck had said, "then come in."

After ten of the longest minutes of her existence, Aurielle had proceeded to Chuck's office and the meeting was taking place, as her new boss had promised.

If she'd had a crush on Castiel before, Aurielle was totally besotted now. He was so handsome, such a gentleman. When he took her hand, she'd never wanted him to let go. Aurielle had always been shy around men, knowing she was plain and had nothing special to offer. Though she knew it was a sin, she was jealous of pretty, vivacious girls who got all the attention. Why had God made her like this? She was intelligent, loyal, a hard worker. If she'd been blessed with these qualities, why couldn't she have been given a little confidence, as well?

But at least she'd been lucky enough to have met the object of her affection now, courtesy of her new boss. Aurielle was grateful to Chuck and vowed to work even harder for him. Let's face it, she'd pretty much do whatever he instructed. Especially if other meetings with Castiel could be arranged.

Aurielle stared into space for a few minutes, fantasizing: Maybe Castiel would need help on a project and she could offer her services. Imagine working side by side with him, helping him, helping Heaven. She could be a great champion for her fellow Angels, could finally be noticed. Make a difference. She would do whatever Castiel asked of her. Maybe if they got to know each other better, he's see her for the quality woman she really was.

GAIL, 1.2

Castiel had been pacing the floor restlessly ever since he'd gotten back from Heaven, and it was starting to get on Gail's nerves.

Though she thought he was probably more forthcoming with her than with most people, Gail had been trying to get used to his enigmatic ways. At times he was a man of few words and it was sometimes hard to know what he was thinking. She supposed this dated back to his first short-lived existence as Abel, a meek and gentle man who had spent more time with sheep than with people. Then, in his second life, Castiel had been a solitary and bookish young man, curious about people but never really able to connect with them. Then, of course, he had been an Angel for hundreds of years and had not interacted with humans until he'd rescued Dean from Hell and had been made his protector on Earth several years ago. Though his association with Dean and Sam had been beneficial in his growth as far as social skills went, Castiel was who he was.

When he'd received the call on Angel Radio, Castiel had merely told Gail he'd been summoned by an urgent message and he'd winked out of the apartment. Now he was back and pacing nervously, and he still hadn't said a word about the nature of the message or why he was so agitated now.

"Castiel, what's going on?" she asked him, pacing along in an effort to get his attention. "Talk to me."

He stopped pacing then and looked at her, as if only realizing just now that she was in the room.

"I'm sorry, Gail," he said. "I've just got a lot on my mind." He seemed to consider something for a moment, then said, "But I suppose you should know. Dean and Sam, too. Just in case."

So he sat her down and gave her the background on Metatron. Since Metatron had already been in jail and God had returned to Heaven when Gail had come into their lives, she had no knowledge of the chaos Metatron had caused. Now that she was an Angel herself, Castiel supposed Gail had the right to know about this sordid chapter in Heaven's history. And though Castiel had vowed to do everything in his power to make sure Metatron would never escape, Castiel's friends should be made aware that he meant to try.

He was tempted to gloss over his part, however unintentional, in helping Metatron to achieve the fall of the Angels. Castiel was deeply ashamed of this and he didn't want Gail to think less of him. But evasion wasn't in his true nature, so he told her the plain, unvarnished truth.

Gail was shocked by the story. Who would have imagined all this had been going on in Heaven and on Earth while she and Frank had been moving from town to town, leading their own lives, just trying to get by? It made her feel small, insignificant. There was a much bigger picture here, one that involved so many lives, both human and Angel.

She was also shocked that an Angel like Metatron could be so, well...evil. Like most humans, she had always thought in general terms of black and white. Demons were bad, Angels were good. Though she'd learned a little bit about the Angel wars during her time with the Winchesters and Castiel, Gail thought she understood that the majority of the Angels had been fighting for justice. When God had gone away [although why He had done so and where He had gone, no one ever knew], there were a few Angels who had turned to the dark side in their hunger to take His place. She'd seen lots of movies; she knew what the promise of absolute power did to some horrible people, though she could never imagine feeling that way herself.

So Gail thought she understood why Castiel and others like him had had to go to battle with their own kind. But this...the story was horrifying. Angels falling to Earth, splitting off into factions and slaughtering each other. Metatron orchestrating the whole thing in his ambition to rule, not caring how many of his Brothers and Sisters were tortured and killed as long as he ended up with the ultimate prize at the bottom of the Crackerjack box. What kind of monster was he?

Gail didn't blame Castiel for any of it and she didn't see how anybody possibly could. It was obvious that Metatron had played him skillfully, and in Castiel's eagerness to help he had badly misjudged Metatron. But who hadn't had the experience of trusting someone only to have them stab you in the back? Obviously, that was not exclusively a human experience. Well, they always said that God had made humans in His own image, complete with flaws and negative emotions, and Angels had once been humans, at least most of them. So she supposed it made sense that they were not perfect. But still...

The only thing Gail didn't really understand was what Castiel felt he'd done so wrong in the first place to be that desperate to want to make it up to his fellow Angels. She hadn't been told the full story, the one that went back even further. The one where Castiel had been so full of power and so full of himself that for a brief moment, he had imagined himself to be God. He had come to his senses almost immediately and had thrown himself into Purgatory to save humanity, and had elected to remain there as his just punishment. But it had been his fault that the plague of the Leviathans had been unleashed upon the Earth, resulting in many deaths. He would have voluntarily remained in Purgatory for all eternity if he had not been "rescued" by another power-hungry Angel named Naomi, who had also used him to further her own ambitions. That mess had also eventually been resolved, but Castiel had subsequently lost his powers and had the humbling experience of being completely human for a while. More than anything else, that time in his life had opened his mind and his heart, and though he had been restored to full Angel status and was favoured by God, Castiel now had a human heart and human emotions to go with it.

It was this part of him that had held him back from revealing his full history on Earth to Gail. He wasn't being dishonest, he rationalized. She needed to know about Metatron and his history as he was a potential threat. But there was no benefit to bringing up ancient history. He was a different man now, a better one, and Gail didn't need to know how low he had sunk before he had rebuilt himself.

But in any event, Gail had all the information she needed now, and she was on board: "So, how do we prevent Metatron from escaping?" she asked Castiel.

His reaction was predictable enough. There was no way he was ever letting Gail near Metatron. He was a monster, and he had a way of seeing into people. Metatron would not hesitate to use Gail to get to Castiel and the Winchesters. Castiel had already been through this torment when Gail had been kidnapped and used by Crowley, and he couldn't go through that again.

"'We' don't prevent it," he replied. "I will prevent it."

Gail's reaction was also predictable. "Oh, no, we're not doing that again," she retorted. He frowned, but she went on. "You've been going it alone for too long when it comes to this Angel stuff. I'm an Angel now too, and we're in this together. I want to help!"

He protested. "How can I make you understand how dangerous Metatron is?"

"I'm pretty sure I get that," she bristled. Did he think she hadn't been listening? "All the more reason for you to have help." But as she said this, she realized how lame it was. Sure, she could disappear, heal people, blast open doors...but she had never picked up a weapon and used it against anyone, not even to defend herself. What good could she possibly be if things came down to a fight?

There was only one thing to do.

"We have to go to the bunker, right now," she told Castiel. "I have a lot to learn, and not much time to learn it."

Castiel got it. He didn't like it, but he got it. And he cared about her too much to refuse. Besides, it made sense, and it wasn't like he and the Winchesters hadn't talked about this very thing. If he wanted Gail to be safe, they needed to teach her how to kill.

A week later, Gail's training was progressing, but far too slowly for her liking.

Even though she was an Angel now, she was still inhabiting her former human body as a vessel, and its muscles were aching. Nevertheless, she'd kept at it, hounding Castiel, Dean and Sam every chance she got for another workout.

The brothers had been very accommodating. They too realized how important it was for Gail to learn how to fight; if she was going to hang around with them, it was sure to come up sometime. So they had lugged all of the equipment out of the gym room and put down mats.

The first day of training, Sam had quizzed Gail about her past experiences. "Did you do any training with your brother?" he asked her. Gail felt a pang in her stomach. It still hurt to think of Frank. With all that had happened around the time of his death, she supposed she'd never had the chance to go through a normal mourning process. But what was "normal" about her life, anyway? She was an Angel embarking on a program to learn how to kill people, maybe even a fellow Angel. Normal wasn't even on the radar these days.

"Truthfully, not much," she answered Sam. "When I was little, he taught me street smarts, but as far as the physical stuff goes, I was never very interested." She grimaced. "I'm regretting that now."

Dean was a little annoyed. How were they supposed to train this girl in combat? She was a little slip of a thing, and she had zero experience. Then again, it was something to do. And he did care about Gail, wanted her safe. People in his life had a habit of getting in harm's way and he didn't want anybody else hurt on his watch. She did have the Angel juice now; that should count for something.

When Cas had told him and Sam that Metatron was trying to plan an escape, Dean was furious. That little douchebag! Dean had no love for Angels, and that guy was the worst. Cas had vowed that he would never let that happen, but Dean knew that Metatron was a sneaky bastard and there were no guarantees.

So the brothers had been taking turns working with Gail. They started out slowly, teaching her basic street fighting techniques. She was small but feisty, and actually had pretty good reflexes.

"Remember, when in doubt..." Dean said to Gail after their first session, "...Kick 'em in the junk," she finished for him. They laughed. After their rocky start, Dean really had grown to like Gail.

Sam had had his doubts, too. He was even bigger than Dean, and Gail was so small...But her instincts seemed good, and she seemed to be getting the hang of the pressure points and vulnerable spots he was showing her.

"It's not all about size," Sam tried to reassure her.

"That's not what Dean told me," Gail quipped. She and Sam laughed, and Dean had to laugh too.

Castiel had been an observer at most of these sessions, but he had not participated in any physical training, preferring to leave that up to the brothers. Being more fragile, humans out of necessity fought differently than Angels. Since Gail had up until recently been a human herself, Castiel thought she would benefit by receiving training from humans. Only logical.

Once she had come along a bit more, he would have to supply her with an Angel blade. It was a formidable weapon, and could be used to kill any being. He hoped she would never have to use it, but knew he would be foolish and short-sighted to think that way. He would just have to swallow his emotions and make sure she was prepared.

Sam was at his usual spot at the computer by the library when Gail plunked down next to him.

"Still quiet?" she asked him.

"Yep," he said. "No suspicious activity, no supernatural events, nothing."

"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?" Gail said.

He closed his laptop and frowned. "I guess so," he mused.

"But you're thinking it's too quiet," she remarked.

He sighed and looked at her. "Yeah."

After a moment, Gail glanced around to make sure they were alone and said tentatively, "Sam, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he replied.

Gail wasn't sure quite how to put it. "This business with Metatron..." she began.

Sam waited for her to finish.

She tried again. "I just get the feeling there's more to the story than Cas is telling me."

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Gail glanced around again to make sure they weren't being overheard. She felt a little funny about this, like she was talking behind Castiel's back, but she had to know. The whole thing just didn't add up.

"Why was Cas trying to help Metatron in the first place?" she asked Sam.

Sam wasn't sure what Gail was getting at, but he was uncomfortable with the question. "Hasn't he talked to you about that?" he asked.

"Well...yes and no," she replied. "I just get the feeling he's not telling me the full story for some reason."

Now Sam thought he knew what was going on, and although he liked Gail, he wasn't going to go there.

"You know how Cas is," he answered evasively.

"How am I?" Castiel asked, strolling into the room with Dean behind him.

Dammit, Gail thought. She was always glad to see him, but couldn't he have waited just a few more minutes?

METATRON, 1.3

Metatron had taken to pacing his cell again. He was full of nervous energy, impatient to be free. Chuck had assured him via subsequent notes passed in the visitors' room that the plan was almost in place and to be patient just a little longer.

On Chuck's last visit, Metatron had raised his eyebrows in a non-verbal inquiry: Well?

Chuck knew what he was getting at, but couldn't give a non-verbal answer, so he had placed the latest note in Metatron's hand and shrugged, keeping up the flow of small talk so as not to alert the guards outside with a sudden silence.

So here Metatron stayed. Chuck had better not be yanking his chain. He had been here for too long and had suffered too much. In Metatron's mind he had always been the hero of the story, and it frustrated him to have been defeated by two mortals and a self-righteous Angel hypocrite. Sure, it worked as a temporary plot point; it was practically mandatory for the hero to suffer a setback or two along the way. But the good guy was supposed to win, and he had been on the sidelines too long.

Of course, the fact that God had returned to Heaven complicated things immensely. As long as the Big Cheese remained at the helm, Metatron had no hope of ruling Heaven. Disappointing as that may be, he'd had to set his sights on another goal. Once Metatron returned to Earth, he was going to ward himself against his fellow Angels and then go on an extended road trip. Maybe visit Disneyland, or the Smithsonian. And on the way, he was going to kill as many humans as he possibly could, and any Angel that tried to stand in his way. And Dean and Sam Winchester and the insufferable Castiel were at the top of his list.

CASTIEL, 1.4

Cas had just come back from yet another visit to Heaven. He had been popping in at regular intervals ever since Chuck had clued him in about Metatron's possible escape plot, but Metatron was still in solitary and his guards advised Castiel every time he inquired that everything was status quo. Like Sam and Dean, he was uneasy. The quiet unnerved him. Was there an imminent threat or not?

So he arrived back at the bunker once more and, seeing no one in the main area, proceeded to the gym. Sure enough, the three of them were there. If he hadn't been so concerned he would have smiled. You had to hand it to Gail; she was tenacious.

They had graduated to using simulated weapons now, and as he watched Gail's progress, Castiel was glad to see that she had improved.

Gail smiled and waved as he entered the room, then wiped the sweat away from her forehead. How funny that she was an Angel but strenuous activity still made her vessel perspire. She wondered if there was anyone she could complain to about that...

Suddenly, Dean grabbed Gail from behind and put a plastic knife to her throat. "Surprise, I just killed you," he said in her ear.

"Who are you, Cato?" she retorted. Silence from Dean, but Sam laughed. He looked over Gail's shoulder at Dean's puzzled expression. "Really?" Sam said incredulously, "Pink Panther movies?"

Dean released Gail then and she wheeled on him. "Not fair!" she teased, but he was not smiling and neither was Castiel.

"Oh, and you think that whoever's attacking you is gonna be fair? Give you a warning, maybe?" Dean said sarcastically.

Gail was crestfallen. He was right. And just when she thought she'd been making such good progress, too.

"You're right, Dean," she admitted. "But that's also the first time either one of you has come at me like a real attacker would. I need you and Sam to step it up. You're treating me with kid gloves." The brothers exchanged looks, but she was on a roll: "Oh, and we should start using real weapons, too."

Dean threw up his hands at that. "Oh, no," he said, "I'm not attacking you with a real weapon."

"Why not?" she asked.

"You're kidding, right?" he retorted.

"No, I'm not!" Gail was frustrated. She knew she had improved from where she'd started out, but Castiel's unease was contagious and she was starting to feel an urgency.

"What if we hurt you?" Sam asked.

"Well then, so what, I'm an Angel, aren't I?" Gail exclaimed. "Unless you plan on killing me with an Angel blade, if you stab me with a regular knife, Cas can just heal me, right?"

Gail looked to him for confirmation and Castiel nodded. He felt sick at the prospect of her being hurt, but the practical side of his nature agreed with everything she had said. If she was going to be properly trained in possible life-or-death combat, the gloves needed to come off.

"Get a knife, Dean," Castiel said evenly.

Dean looked at Cas as if he was crazy, then gave up and got a real knife off the table.

"OK, now really attack me," Gail said to Dean.

After a moment's hesitation, he did, but his attempts were still half-hearted and Gail was able to avoid him easily.

"Come on, Dean, you can do better than that," she said, but her attempts to goad him failed.

"I can't do it," Dean said. He walked up to Sam and handed him the knife. "You do it, Sammy."

Sam took the knife from Dean, but he was even more tentative than his brother had been.

Gail gave up. "Give the knife to Castiel, Sam," she said, rolling her eyes. Sam stared at her but didn't move.

Sighing, Cas took off his coat and dropped it on the floor. He walked up to Sam and extended his hand for the knife.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Sam asked him.

"No," Cas answered simply.

Sam put the knife in Castiel's hand and he and Dean backed away to the far wall. This should be interesting.

Castiel and Gail faced each other. "You'd better not wimp out on me," she told him, looking directly into his eyes.

He was staring back at her, his face grim. "I won't."

Suddenly she was scared, regretting this. There was something about him, standing there with the knife in his hand, and the way he was looking at her. Gail had to remind herself that she was an Angel now and she would not be permanently harmed.

He lunged at her then, but her reflexes were good and she avoided his charge. He tried to grab her from behind, but she applied the pressure point Sam had shown her to Castiel's wrist and he dropped the knife. She glanced quickly at Sam, who gave her a thumbs-up. Then she wheeled around to see Castiel picking up the knife and he came at her again without hesitation. She was able to deflect his attack just once more, but then he came at her from the side and stabbed her in the chest.

Gail went down to her knees, mouth open in surprise, the knife still sticking out of her chest. Was this what getting stabbed felt like? She'd had no idea it would hurt this much. She looked down at the knife and out of reflex, grabbed the handle and pulled it out of her chest. That was stupid; now the pain was worse and she was bleeding. Should she be bleeding this much?

Castiel fell to his knees in front of her and placed his hand on her chest. His hand glowed, and a moment later the bleeding stopped and her wound was healed, the pain gone.

She looked at him and her body started to shake, with equal parts fear and relief. He grabbed her upper arms. "Are you all right?" he asked her.

"Yeah," she breathed, "I think so."

"Never ask me to do that again," Castiel said, then got up and left the room.

Sam and Dean rushed to Gail, taking one of her arms each and helping her to stand.

"Holy crap," Dean said in a hushed voice.

"Are you sure you're OK?" Sam asked.

"I seem to be," Gail replied shakily. "Wow. I think I'd better sit down for a minute, though."

Sam helped her to a chair and he leaned against the table, watching her.

Dean left Gail with Sam and went to find Cas.

Castiel was sitting at the library table, bent over, his head in his hands. He knew Gail was all right and that she'd needed a real test, but he was sickened by what he'd done.

By the time Dean got there, Castiel had lifted his head and was staring at the wall, tears streaming down his face. Dean understood. He retreated quietly, leaving his friend alone.

CROWLEY, 1.1

Crowley was sitting in the throne room, blessedly alone for a change. His mother had been hovering over him constantly since they'd returned, and it was really starting to get on his nerves. He'd done just fine without her for hundreds of years, flourished even, and now she was acting as if he couldn't make a move without her.

True, she had brought him back from the dead. Anyone in his situation would have been grateful for that, but though he was glad to be back, Crowley was baffled by Rowena's action. He knew bloody well that she aspired to the throne, and he was the obstacle that stood in her way. So why bring him back at all? Why had she not just left him dead and then taken the throne for herself? He had no doubt she could do it; his mother was a cunning and formidable woman with centuries' worth of magic spells at her disposal. So, why?

Crowley sat back and took a sip from his drink. Single malt Scotch on the rocks. It had been his drink of choice in life and even though he had no need for food and drink as a Demon, he did enjoy the taste. And it was a good prop; when he took a meeting and needed to consider his next choice of words, Crowley would take a sip from his glass. When he'd been Fergus, he used to guzzle cheap whiskey from a bottle. Now he was Crowley, the King of Hell, and he drank the most expensive Scotch from a crystal glass. He had reinvented himself as a man of culture and good taste. One did not have to be a boor to rule.

But since Rowena had reanimated Fergus MacLeod's bones, Crowley now had more of his old self in him than before. Gone were the human emotions, such as compassion and the capacity to love, that Crowley had experienced in his former existence. The blood cure that the Winchesters had inflicted on him had worked all too well, and by the time Castiel had dealt the final blow that ended his life, Crowley had been a shadow of his former self. Oh, and there was the Angel blood, too. When Crowley had told his Brother to kill him, he'd really meant it. In a fit of compassion, Crowley had removed the Mark of Cain from Dean and taken it back on himself. Then he had informed Gail that she had not actually killed a human child, freeing her of her guilt. He would have only performed these deeds while under the influence of the cocktail of benevolence that had been surging through his veins. He shook his head in disgust. Imagine trying to rule Hell with all of that going on inside you. Killing him had been an act of mercy.

So he supposed he did owe his mother a debt of gratitude, as well. This new, regenerated version of himself was no longer burdened with human or Angel virtues. He did feel some emotions, though. As Fergus MacLeod he had been a petty and vindictive man, prone to jealousy and rage, and Crowley had now reacquired these feelings as a result of his regeneration. Qualities that would serve him well as a Demon, but he needed to ensure that these emotions did not consume him.

Crowley considered his position. The fact that his mother had not shown up yet could only mean that she was busy elsewhere, poisoning minds against him. He was well aware of her tactics. He did owe her for bringing him back, so he had allowed her to live for the time being. But he had to do something to tip the scales back in his favour. He'd been given another chance, a chance to get it right this time, and he meant to take full advantage.

What he needed was a protege, someone who was wholly loyal to him. Would stand with him against his mother and any other comers, if it came to that. If Crowley had a formidable adversary at his side as a deterrent, a battle for the throne might be avoided. Wars were so messy, and his number of subjects had already been significantly diminished in his absence.

He'd thought that Gail could be such an ally, but he had been wrong. He had underestimated the wellspring of goodness in her. She was no killer, and though his efforts to make her into one had appeared successful on the surface, he now realized that his methodology had been flawed. He had let his human side get in the way, treating her with kindness and patience. He supposed he'd even felt love for her. That was no way to cultivate an assassin. He should have just had the Winchesters and Castiel tortured while she watched, that would have been a much more effective motivational tool. That had been the original plan, and the reason why he had ordered her brother Frank taken alive. There was no better way to obtain compliance from humans than by having them witness the pain and suffering of their loved ones, knowing they need only obey to end it.

But the Demons he had assigned to the task of holding Gail's brother Frank had allowed him to die, and Crowley's bargaining chip had died with him. There had been a simple elegance to the original plan involving Frank...

Crowley's head snapped up. Frank. Crowley had had an inspiration. It was a wonderful, crazy idea. Could be really be considering this? It would be the most outrageous thing he had ever done.

He smiled. Just because it was outrageous didn't mean it wasn't a damn fine idea. Satisfying on so many levels.

After the massacre at the Demon safe house, the first thing Crowley had done upon his return was to deploy a team of Demons to watch the bunker, 24-7. He knew that Gail would return there and had wanted to recover her. He eventually had, but he was not thinking about her now. Crowley was thinking about something else that had been in the surveillance report: The Winchesters had buried Frank's body behind the bunker. And they hadn't burned his bones.

Crowley's smile widened into a grin.

ROWENA, 1.4

Crowley's mother was indeed sowing the seeds of unrest at that moment, as her son had suspected. Demons were so easy to manipulate. Most of them had not exactly been Mensa members in life, a fact made obvious by the choices they had made in their lives to lead them here.

So she'd been weaving in and out of rooms in the den, initiating discussions, sussing them out. Some were steadfastly loyal to her son and she did not bother to engage with them. But there were others, too, and her gentle but probing questions served to isolate the ones who could be swayed.

Though his absence had been brief, there were some Demons who had been questioning his competence as a leader. What kind of ruler just took off without any instructions to his followers, never being heard from, while his subjects succumbed to the chaos and started murdering each other in droves? Rumours had flown around, and were still being circulated. Crowley had been killed. No, he couldn't be dead, he was the King. He must have had his reasons for being away. Others heard he had gone soft before he left. Maybe he was still soft now.

Even though the Demon-on-Demon violence had ceased, there was plenty of unrest. Many had already lost confidence in their leader, and others had thought of treason. The only thing that had held them back from acting on those thoughts was a basic underlying fear. They had heard about Dominic's murder by Crowley's own hand. This seemed to contradict the rumours that he was no longer the ruthless King he'd once been. The fact that he'd so boldly dispatched one of his own few remaining Knights, apparently at just the hint of possible treachery, gave them pause.

Rowena admitted to herself that she'd made a miscalculation there. Perceiving the Knights as her only other real threat, she'd wanted them gone. But her goading her son into the killing of Dominic was perhaps ill-timed. She was trying to incite a rebellion, sway the numbers to her side, but if these minions were too afraid of Crowley to commit, she had a problem.

She would have to find another way.

METATRON, 1.4

By the time of Chuck's next visit, Metatron had reached the end of his patience. If Chuck did not have a definitive plan for Metatron's escape, he was going to casually reach out and wrap his hands around Chuck's neck, slowly choking the life out of him. Maybe he'd do it anyway, after his escape, just for the sheer pleasure.

Once they were alone, Metatron reached out his hand for the piece of paper he had come to expect, but Chuck gave his head a slight shake. What the hell?

As Metatron tensed his body, preparing to launch himself across the table at Chuck, the latter held his hand up and mouthed one word: Tonight.

Metatron relaxed. Good boy.

CHUCK, 1.2

Chuck walked away from the prison wing, never knowing how close he had come to losing his life. He was the Prophet and therefore knew many things that were about to happen, but he was not meant to know everything. And maybe that was just as well.

He'd sensed that Metatron was about to blow, though, and he had been laying the groundwork for the escape for weeks. It was finally time to pull the trigger.

Chuck called Aurielle into his office as soon as he got back. When she entered, he asked her to close the door and lock it behind her.

Because Chuck had laid the groundwork, Aurielle did not react with surprise, merely did as he instructed.

Since Chuck had arranged Aurielle's meeting of Castiel, he had been grooming her for a very special role in the operation. Subtly flattering her, telling her how smart she was, that she was the best worker he'd ever had, and that she was destined to go far. Then, the coup de grace: Chuck told Aurielle that Castiel had a special project coming up and that he, Chuck, had recommended her for it. The look on her face had been something to behold, a cross between excitement and fanaticism, and he knew he had her.

So he had been juggling them all ever since: Seeing Metatron in prison and telling him his escape was imminent. Massaging Aurielle, using her infatuation for Castiel and her yearning to be important. And most delicately of all, keeping Castiel on the string, telling him just enough truth to serve Chuck's purposes.

"The mission is tonight," Chuck advised Aurielle.

Her eyes widened. Chuck had been dropping little bits of information to her here and there, but making her believe she was drawing the information out of him. How Castiel needed help with something on Earth and there were few people or Angels he could trust. Since he and Chuck were friends who had a rich history together, he had enlisted Chuck's help, but they needed one more. Most Angels that had been here at the time of the Fall [many were dead, of course, and many were new] blamed poor Castiel for it, although it wasn't his fault, Chuck had told her.

Aurielle's heart broke for Castiel. How could people be so judgmental, so mean? Why would they have ever thought that a hero like Castiel would have done anything so horrible? Everyone knew it was Metatron who'd caused the Fall, and he was rotting in prison, where he belonged.

Chuck had made a show of hesitating, then he had "confided" in Aurielle that things were not as black and white as all that. Heaven had been in a real mess back then, and Castiel and Metatron had actually been working together to help their fellow Angels. Then an evil Angel called Naomi had caused the Fall, and they were all cast out of Heaven, Castiel and Metatron included. But they had heroically worked together as a team to create the portal back to Heaven, and when Metatron killed Naomi to stop her from harming more Angels, he had been put in jail for murder.

Aurielle couldn't believe what she was hearing. How had she not heard about this? Because anyone who has talked about what really happened is either dead or has gone missing, Chuck had whispered conspiratorially. Now it's only me, Castiel and Metatron who know the truth...and now you, he'd told her. Metatron's been trying to clear his name, but no one will listen to him, and...he motioned to her to come close, and when she did, Chuck administered the final blow: "Castiel will be assassinated next."

She looked up at Chuck, alarmed. No! They had to stop that from happening! In her panic, Aurielle didn't stop to analyze Chuck's story.

Then Chuck had told her the most shocking thing yet: A group of Angels were conspiring to murder all of the Upper Echelon and take their places. And that new Angel, Gail, the one that had been assigned to Earth with Castiel, was one of them.

Aurielle seethed. That traitorous bitch.

"What can we do?" she asked Chuck. "We have to help him!"

"I spoke to Castiel and told him you were on our side," Chuck had told her. "But you can't mention this to anyone. We don't know everyone who's a member of the group, so we don't know who we can trust. One word puts all of our lives in danger."

So of course Aurielle swore secrecy. She would have died before letting anything happen to Castiel.

Later, Chuck had sought her out again. "We have a plan," he'd told her. She was all ears. "But I don't know if we should involve you any further. It's extremely dangerous."

But she'd put her hand on his arm and insisted, "No, please, I want to help."

Sure she did. Anything for her precious Castiel.

Chuck went for broke. It was now or never. Either she was on board or he and Metatron would be playing gin rummy in adjoining cells before the day was out.

"What do you need me to do?" she had asked him.

He took a deep breath. "We need to help Castiel get Metatron out of prison."

AURIELLE, 1.3

She couldn't believe what she was about to do. It was the craziest and most dangerous thing she'd ever even thought about doing. Break Metatron out of prison? The most evil Angel she'd ever heard of?

Back when Chuck had begun to cultivate her, Aurielle had been flattered by his confidence in her and willingness to trust her. As Chuck divulged more and more of the story, she went from happiness to disbelief to acceptance.

When she'd been disbelieving of Chuck's story, he had unlocked the bookcase where the sensitive prophecies were stored and had shown her the documents, initialled by God Himself, as proof. Of course, he had previously removed some of the subsequent pages before she'd come into his office.

But what Aurielle saw was proof enough for her. Castiel and Metatron had indeed worked together to help the Angels, they had fallen to Earth together, and Metatron had killed Naomi when he'd returned.

With the really incriminating pages removed, there was just enough truth there to convince Aurielle. And before she'd had a chance to think too long, long enough to detect the holes in the story, Chuck had hit her with both barrels: Castiel's imminent assassination, and the "fact" that he was currently living with a member of the group that was conspiring against him.

That was enough to tip her over into acceptance of Chuck's story as, well, gospel. So she was just desperate enough to help save Castiel that she fell for Chuck's final lie, and it was a whopper:

"We need to help Castiel get Metatron out of prison," Chuck had told her. "They've pledged to work together once more to identify and eliminate every member of the assassination group. It's not only the Upper Echelon who are in danger, it's all of us. They'll go after anyone who stands against them. Who is on Castiel's side, and God's."

And, as if this wasn't enough, Chuck had laid it on even thicker: "We need to get Castiel and Metatron out of Heaven, to keep them safe. Once Metatron is free, he'll join Castiel on Earth for a while until the assassins are taken care of. And-" because Chuck couldn't resist, he really couldn't - "besides me, Castiel said you're the only one he can trust to help us. Because I vouched for you."

He'd had her when he'd talked about being on Castiel's side. And God's, too, of course. But this last bit sealed the deal. Castiel trusted her to help him, and she would not let him down.

So when Chuck asked her to lock his office door on that fateful afternoon, Aurielle was prepared to do whatever he asked of her. For Heaven, for her fellow Angels, and for God. She was finally going to do something heroic, for the greater good. And helping save Castiel's life was priority number one.

Chuck outlined the plan. He and Aurielle were going to go to the prison to pay Metatron a visit tonight. While they were there, Metatron was going to seize Aurielle and use her as a hostage to get to the portal which led to Earth. When Castiel showed up to help [it was prearranged that he would, Chuck confided], he would offer to take Aurielle's place as hostage, and he and Metatron would go through the portal together. No one in Heaven would know that Aurielle was really on Team Castiel, and she would get everyone's attention and sympathy for having been taken hostage by the notorious Metatron. It was a win-win.

Then Chuck went into the locked cabinet behind his desk and pulled out two Angel blades. She was to hide one on her person, in a place where it wouldn't be found in a search. The guards knew Chuck by now and seemed to trust him, so he would conceal the second on himself. And at the right time, she would pass her blade to Metatron so he could hold her hostage with it. No harm would come to her, but she had to play her part convincingly.

Aurielle didn't think there would be any problem with that. As she took the blade, the first weapon she had ever held in her life, she already felt like a frightened hostage. She pictured Metatron holding the blade to her heart and shivered. But she couldn't lose her nerve now.

They went over the plan again, then once more. It was a simple plan on the surface, but it had to go off seamlessly so no one would get hurt.

METATRON, 1.5

He looked up inquiringly when Chuck and Aurielle entered the visitors' room.

"Who is this fetching young lady?" Metatron asked Chuck, smiling. He was surprised to see Aurielle; he didn't know her and wasn't sure what role she was here to play. But Chuck winked at him, and Metatron was sharp enough to sit back and play along for the time being.

"She's my assistant," Chuck replied. "She's here to transcribe your confession."

Interesting. This was, of course, news to Metatron. But he would see where Chuck was going with this. He had no choice but to trust him for the moment.

Chuck knew what he was doing. He had been planting a seed during his last few visits and had told Metatron's guards, confidentially, that Metatron felt remorse and seemed to want to clear his conscience with a full confession. Chuck was the only one he could trust to tell his story to, and Chuck was bringing his assistant to get everything down on record while Chuck asked the questions. As the guards had listened intently, Chuck hinted that Metatron had many secrets to confess. If he was able to pull this off, with the guards' help, there would be rewards and promotions in their future, Chuck was sure.

So when he showed up with Aurielle that evening, Metatron's guards were expecting them, and were excited about assisting in obtaining Metatron's full confession.

When the two guards ushered Chuck and Aurielle into the visitors' room, they turned to leave as usual, but Chuck said, "No. Please stay. You should hear this."

The guards looked at each other, thrilled and proud that they would be the first to hear Metatron confess and show remorse. It was about time. They were looking forward to hearing all the juicy details.

Chuck took his customary seat across from Metatron and Aurielle took the other chair. She opened the notebook she'd brought and put it on the table, along with a soft-tip pen to write with. She'd been searched prior to entering the room, but the guards had examined the pen and deemed it safe. As Chuck had predicted, they had not done a full search of either visitor, so the blade remained under her clothes, undetected.

"One thing before we begin," Metatron said. He looked at the guards, who were standing by the door. "I speak much more freely when I'm comfortable." He extended his cuffed wrists.

The guards looked at each other uncertainly.

"Come on, guys," Metatron wheedled. "I talk with my hands,"

Chuck chimed in, "What could happen? You're both right here."

That seemed to convince them, and they moved forward warily, releasing Metatron from his shackles. They moved back to their positions as Metatron rubbed his wrists and stretched his arms slowly, casually. He didn't want to make any sudden moves to put them on alert. This could work out. Now, what next?

He looked at Chuck, who gave an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement. Chuck said, "Now, I'm going to ask you a series of questions, which you have agreed to answer truthfully."

Metatron played along: "That's right." Chuck had better be going somewhere with this.

"And Aurielle here is going to take down whatever you say. She takes shorthand, so speak freely and she'll record everything."

Aurielle moved her chair as close to Metatron as she dared with the guards watching, her pen at the ready. She'd thought it was going to be really scary being that close to him, but now that she'd seen him in person, Metatron didn't look scary at all. Not even evil. He was just a little man with big, sad eyes. According to Chuck, God had handpicked Metatron to be his Scribe because he was a good and loyal Angel; and Castiel had considered Metatron to be worthy enough to have teamed up with him to help save Heaven from the bad Angels seeking to destroy it.

Now that she had met him, Aurielle could understand how Metatron might have been bullied and railroaded into his prison term. And the fact that he had the endorsement of the two most important denizens of Heaven, three if you counted Chuck, was enough for her.

Chuck turned to the guards and said, "God Himself has told me to tell you that nothing you hear is to leave this room. Until the full confession is transcribed and God has a chance to review it, we're instructed not to say a word. I trust we can count on your cooperation."

They looked at Chuck and nodded, assuring him that they would not breathe a word. Lying, of course. Depending on what they were about to hear, the juicy details could carry a lot of currency. Imagine the respect and awe with which they'd be regarded.

As Chuck was making his little speech and keeping the guards' attention on him by invoking God's name, Aurielle reached under her skirt and passed the Angel blade to Metatron under the table. He was so surprised he almost dropped it. Chuck, you magnificent bastard.

Metatron jumped to his feet and grabbed Aurielle, putting the blade to her throat and using her to shield him. Chuck had been shown that this was what was going to occur, but he hadn't really needed the foresight. He knew Metatron to be a coward, only caring about saving his own hide. The fact that this girl had just helped him would be lost on Metatron; to him she was just a means to an end.

Aurielle played the frightened hostage to the hilt. She wasn't really too scared as she'd known this was going to happen, but Metatron's acting was even better. "Take me to the Portal, or she dies," he snarled. His grip on her tightened and began to really hurt, and the blade was held so close to her throat it was almost breaking the skin. She knew he had to really sell it but Aurielle was afraid to swallow, or even to blink.

The guards had withdrawn their own blades as soon as Metatron had grabbed Aurielle, but stood uncertainly, unsure as how to proceed. Chuck had also known this would be their reaction. They could not allow a Sister to be killed. They were also confused; they had searched Metatron prior to his entering the visitors' room, and they had searched the visitors. How had Metatron gotten the blade?

"Drop them!" Metatron barked at the guards. They hesitated. "Do it! I'll kill her!| He pressed the blade even closer to Aurielle's throat and she felt it cut into her skin.

The sight of her blood was enough to convince them, and the guards dropped their blades. They remained frozen on the spot, and Metatron didn't want to wait any longer and risk the arrival of backup, so he edged over to the door of the visitors' room, careful to keep Aurielle in front of him. He hustled her out the door and down the hall to the room where the Portal was. Chuck and the guards followed.

CASTIEL, 1.5

Castiel was in the bunker with Gail and the Winchesters. They were sitting around the table chatting in their normal fashion, and he was glad. For the first couple of days after the incident in the training room, he had been quieter than usual, barely even able to look Gail in the eye.

Dean had told Sam about seeing Cas right after it had happened and how upset he'd been, and the brothers had been treating him the same as usual, teasing him, trying to draw him out of his funk. When that didn't work, Dean had taken Gail aside.

"Cas is really upset about what happened," he said to Gail.

She'd noticed that he'd been even quieter than normal, and avoiding eye contact. Knowing Castiel as she did now, she wasn't really surprised by what Dean said. But what could she do about it? It had happened, and truth be told, if she had to do it all over again, she wouldn't change a thing. Well, maybe protected her flank a bit better, she thought wryly. But she'd needed a real test, and Castiel having stabbed her provided the wake-up call that had not come from Sam and Dean. They weren't playing games here; she needed to step it up if she wanted to be of use to these guys. Otherwise, she might as well put a frilly apron on and have dinner ready for them when they got back from whatever case they'd been on. No, thanks. That was not what she'd signed on for.

So Gail had doubled and then tripled her sessions with Sam and Dean after that and, to their credit, they had not gone easy on her. Castiel would no longer even enter the training room, but he had remained available to heal whatever wounds she had incurred. The wounds Sam and Dean inflicted on her were relatively minor as the days passed, though, and on one surreal occasion, Gail had actually succeeded in stabbing Dean so deep that she'd had to lay her hands on him immediately and heal him before he bled out.

"Thanks," he'd said after it happened. He'd been on the floor writhing in pain, his leg bleeding profusely, and Gail had put her hands on his thigh and healed him instantly. Just like the old days, she thought. But this Angel power was pure, and it was infinite as long as she had her Grace. For a second her mind wandered and she wondered if the box containing her former powers was still locked up in the bunker's safe. Oh well, it didn't really matter, she supposed. She had no need for them now.

Dean had sat up then and smiled at her crookedly. "Bitch." They laughed, and she helped him to his feet. Sam smiled at the two of them almost paternally. "I think you're ready," he'd said to Gail.

But Dean was not laughing now. "I'll go talk to him," she assured Dean, patting him on the arm. It was sweet that he cared about his friend so much.

So Gail sought Castiel out. He was on the couch in front of the fireplace, one of his favourite spots. Dean and Sam made themselves scarce as she sat down beside Castiel.

"I know you're still upset about what happened," she said to him without preliminary. "We've got to get past it. I don't blame you, and you shouldn't blame yourself."

He glanced at her then, his face troubled, but he said nothing. So she went on, "I asked you to do it, and you did everything the way you were supposed to. I'm the one who failed that day, not you."

He shook his head. "I still shouldn't have done it," he protested. "I should have stopped short of hurting you."

"But I'm fine," she assured him. "And I've improved so much since that day. Did Dean tell you I actually had to heal him?"

Despite himself, Castiel smiled. "Yes. I only regret I wasn't there to see that."

She smiled back at him and took his hand. "So I owe you a debt of gratitude. If you hadn't given me a true test that day, I would never have progressed to the point I'm at now. Thanks for taking me seriously." She squeezed his hand. "For treating me like an equal. A partner."

He regarded her curiously. He had driven a knife into her chest and she was thanking him for it. Dean had often told him that women were the most mysterious beings he would ever encounter, and Castiel could now see why. But he appreciated Gail's efforts to make him feel better, and he could see the logic in what she'd said. The reports he'd been receiving from the Winchesters on her progress had been nothing short of remarkable. They felt she was as ready as she'd ever be for a situation which called on her to fight. And for that, he was grateful. He wanted her by his side.

Castiel was about to tell Gail as much when the urgent message from Chuck came through: "COME IMMEDIATELY! METATRON IS ESCAPING, AND HE'S GOT A HOSTAGE!"

He disappeared from the bunker, leaving a bewildered Gail behind.

METATRON, 1.6

Metatron and Aurielle had reached the Portal room and they were standing in front of the area where the invisible curtain would be. But the switch to activate the Portal would have to be turned on, and it was across the room.

Metatron was just about to instruct one of the guards to turn on the switch when Castiel suddenly appeared in the doorway. He withdrew his Angel blade immediately and advanced on Metatron, who pulled Aurielle closer to him.

Aurielle was thrilled to see Castiel, and her heart leaped when he said, "Don't do this, Metatron. Let her go."

"So, the White Knight appears to save the damsel in distress," Metatron sneered. "So chivalrous. So cliche."

"Drop your weapon," Castiel commanded. "Let her go."

"Oh, well, since YOU say so..." Metatron replied sarcastically, pretending to release his grip on Aurielle, then pulling her back and inflicting another cut on her throat. "I think not."

Castiel considered. He did not want this Sister to be killed, but Metatron could not be allowed to escape.

Aurielle was momentarily confused. What was he waiting for? Why were he and Metatron speaking to each other with such animosity in their voices? Of course. It was for the guards' benefit. They obviously could not be trusted with what was really happening here, and Castiel and Metatron were playing their parts.

Realizing she had a role to play too, Aurielle brought tears to her eyes. Which wasn't too hard to do, considering the cuts on her throat were really starting to hurt.

"Please help me, Castiel, I don't want to die," she pleaded.

"Turn on the switch," Metatron instructed one of the guards. Reluctantly, but seeing no choice, he turned it on, and the Portal was opened behind Metatron and his hostage. He risked a look behind to make sure, then looked back at Castiel. "Well, I guess this young lady and I will be going for a trip," he taunted Castiel. "I can't say it's been fun."

"Wait," Castiel said. "Let her go. Take me instead."

"You?" Metatron said scornfully. He smiled. "What could I possibly want with you?"

"I'm much more valuable as a hostage," Castiel replied evenly.

Aurielle winced inwardly at that. She saw the logic, but it still hurt her feelings to hear it from the object of her affection. She reminded herself that Castiel was only playing a part. He didn't mean that the way it came out. He was offering to give up his life for hers, at least, as far as the guards knew. Castiel truly was the kind of Angel she'd thought he was, and had fantasized about. He really did care for her.

Metatron appeared to think about this. Castiel was quite right of course, but Metatron knew that if he and Castiel transported back to Earth together, just the two of them, Metatron would be dead before his feet even hit the ground. Scribe of God or no, Castiel's strength and fight skills were vastly superior to Metatron's own, and there was no way he would survive a one-on-one confrontation with God's Golden Boy. What should he do?

Then Chuck piped up: "Take me, too. Just...please let Aurielle go. It's my fault she's here in the first place."

Metatron had almost forgotten that Chuck was in the room, he'd been such a non-factor up till this point. But his offer was interesting. There'd be two of them against Castiel, and that might work, at least long enough for Metatron to get away. So he said, "Fine. Get over here, both of you."

Castiel and Chuck moved slowly over to where Metatron and Aurielle stood. The Angel and the Prophet looked at each other. I don't really need his help, Castiel thought, but with it, we'll be able to recapture Metatron immediately. He wondered what Metatron could possibly be thinking. He had to know there was no way Castiel and Chuck would allow him to get away and wander the Earth. Maybe they should just kill him right away and ask God's permission later.

Chuck saw Castiel look at him and fought to keep a straight face. This poor sap actually thought they were in this together, to stand against Metatron. Was he ever in for a rude surprise.

Metatron pushed Aurielle away and grabbed Chuck and Castiel, yanking them into the Portal with him. The guards rushed to help Aurielle and she smiled through her tears. The mission had been a success.

Chuck and Metatron stood over Castiel's unconscious body. They had attacked him as soon as the trio had landed in the dimly lit playground where the Portal led, and Castiel had been taken by surprise.

Chuck held Castiel's own Angel blade over him, the tip pointing at Castiel's throat. "Should I do the honours?" he said to Metatron.

"Oh, no, no," Metatron replied, relishing the sight of a helpless Castiel and the power inherent in deciding whether to spare another being or to kill him. "It's way too soon in the game. You can't have a knockout in the first round. What fun is that?"

Chuck looked at him, then moved the blade away from Castiel's throat and dropped it on the ground beside his unconscious body. "I guess you're right," he said to Metatron, smirking. Then his expression turned serious. "I wouldn't give him too long, though. Once he teams up with the Winchesters to find you, you'll be on the run. Those guys have a habit of asking questions as they're shooting you, if you get my drift."

Metatron nodded. He was familiar with the Winchesters' methodology. "Let the games begin," he said happily, "and let the odds be ever in my favour." He took out his own Angel blade then and faced Chuck.

Chuck grimaced and closed his eyes. "Make it look convincing."

Metatron did.

CROWLEY, 1.2

Crowley had invited his mother to tea in the private dining room and when she arrived, he sent his minions away, telling them in no uncertain terms that he and Rowena were not to be disturbed. While he was aware that most of his subjects still feared him, he did not want to take a chance on their conversation being overheard by anyone.

He poured his mother a cup of tea when she sat down, then poured himself a generous shot of scotch.

Rowena's eyes narrowed at this bit of gentility. What was he playing at?

"I think it's time that you and I had an honest conversation," Crowley said, looking at Rowena and casually swirling the liquid around in his glass. "I know what you're really after."

Rowena's hand froze as she reached for the sugar tongs. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she said innocently, then added a sugar cube to her tea and stirred it nonchalantly. She saw that her hand was shaking so she put the spoon down.

He would have to play this carefully. His mother was no fool. But he needed her for the time being. He would have to make her believe that her agenda was also his own. Well, except for the part about killing him and usurping his throne, of course. She was dreaming if she thought that was going to happen. But for now, he had to utilize the team approach, throw her happy family scenario back in her face.

"I know you want to make Gail a Knight of Hell, to get her back in the fold, so to speak," he told Rowena. She was startled, but before she could think what to say, he continued, "And I think you're right."

She was surprised. "You do?"

"Yes, I do," he agreed. "We've both seen what she can do, and I think we made a good team before she was taken away from us." Using "we" and "us" to reinforce the idea that he and his mother were in this together. Before ascending to the throne, Crowley had been the best deal-maker Hell had ever seen, and with good reason. He knew how to use language to effectively make his point. Now it was time to dangle the special offer: "I also know that I went about things the wrong way before. I tried to raise Gail above her station. She'll have her uses, but she was never fit to rule. Only I can do that. And I'm offering you the chance to co-rule with me. To be the Queen of Hell."

Rowena's eyebrows shot upwards. Really? OK, she didn't believe he truly meant it, of course. This was not the Crowley from before, the watered-down version of himself with human and Angel blood coursing through his veins. That one she would have believed it from, through some misguided sense of family loyalty or even love. But this Crowley was more her son Fergus, who had left any love or loyalty he might have once felt on the sawdust floor of a Scottish pub centuries ago. So, again, what was he playing at?

Crowley saw her reaction, and he was no fool, either. Time to inject some realism: "Oh, don't look at me like that, Mother," he snapped. "This is not some mother-son bonding moment. I loathe you and you think I'm contemptible. Fine. What I'm proposing here is a mutually beneficial arrangement."

He had her attention now. Maybe he was sincere.

"You have a unique skill set," the salesman in Crowley continued. He was never more in his wheelhouse than when he was putting together a deal. "If we work together, using your spells and my knowledge, we can achieve our goal. Which is to have Gail back and working for us."

"Are you sure you don't still love her, Fergus?" Rowena asked softly. "Is that why you're doing this?"

He gave her a dark look. "You're thinking of the former me, the one who was being turned into the world's biggest prat. He's gone. She's just a means to an end, and if she defies us, I'll kill her myself. Happily."

Rowena was glad to hear it. As Queen, Gail would have taken Rowena's place by her son's side and she couldn't have that. But as a Knight, Gail would have to obey any orders that Rowena, the actual Queen, gave her. Including the killing of Fergus, when it was time.

She would hop on board, at least for now. Her son's head was on straight and his priorities were the same as hers.

"How do you propose we start?" Rowena went back to stirring her tea.

Crowley instructed her, requested really, to gather the ingredients she'd used on his own bones. Then, to perpetuate the appearance of full disclosure, he told her about a certain gravesite behind a certain bunker he intended to visit. Reanimating Gail's brother Frank was the first step.

CHUCK, 1.3

Since returning to his office in Heaven, Chuck hadn't had a moment's peace. His fellow Angels kept stopping by all day to express their appreciation for his having taken on Metatron in an attempt to recapture him. They didn't blame him for not succeeding; Metatron had obviously had help lined up. Once they'd arrived on Earth, Chuck and Castiel had fought valiantly, but Metatron had set a group of goons on them and they had been badly beaten while Metatron made his getaway. Chuck had been thrashed and tortured within an inch of his life and when he couldn't take it any more, he'd passed out from the pain. When he'd awoken, Castiel was gone and Chuck was alone.

The female Angels oohed and aahed at all the right places and tried to help him with his injuries, but Chuck advised them he didn't want to be healed; he wanted to wear his scars as a cautionary tale of how foolish it was to get mixed up with a monster like Metatron. He should have been more careful. He should have known somehow. But he had felt some compassion for Metatron, he explained, and weren't they in the forgiveness business? Yes, he had been played, and he was ashamed. But he reminded each and every Angel that came to see him that it wasn't so long ago that Metatron had duped Castiel in much the same way. And if someone as smart and as brave as Castiel had been fooled, well...

Chuck closed his office door and locked it. He needed to drop the pretense for a while. One more Castiel is perfect speech and he was going to throw up. He remembered standing over Castiel in the playground, the blade in his hand. If Chuck had it to do over again he would have just killed Castiel right then and there. Screw Metatron.

He wondered where Metatron was now, and what he was doing. He didn't much care, he had no love for the guy. He was a puffed-up little nerd with delusions of grandeur. But he was also a powerful Angel and now that he was back on Earth, there would be no stopping him. The jail block in Heaven was encased in sigils so that all the inmates were rendered powerless. That was why the guards, also Angels, had not been able to stop Metatron; they were bound by the same physical laws. And they could not have attacked him with their blades for fear of getting the hostage Aurielle killed. But once on Earth, Metatron's power was back in play. He'd promised to exact revenge on Castiel and the Winchester brothers, and that was why Chuck had helped him to escape in the first place. And if a few, or a lot, of humans died in the process, who cared? Chuck hated humans, anyway.

He winced as he sat down at his desk. He had told Metatron to do a number on him, make it look convincing, but the little bastard had seemed to really enjoy it. Maybe he should just forget the hero crap and have someone heal him, already. Word would have gotten around by now that he was one of the good guys. Chuck's main concern had been that Castiel not find out that he and Metatron had been working together this whole time. It wouldn't do to have his cover blown. He still had more plans for Mr. Perfect. So he had stood behind Castiel when they went through the Portal and had let Metatron make the first assault. So, as far as he knew, Castiel was none the wiser, and then he had been unconscious. Metatron hadn't used his powers in so long that he must have been amped up; no one had ever gotten the jump on Castiel like that as far as Chuck knew. Of course, Chuck did inflict a few little injuries on Castiel once he'd been out, he couldn't let Metatron have all the fun. But Chuck had talked the guy up all morning, about how he was such a brave hero who'd put up a fierce fight. Chuck laughed. Castiel should be thanking him for helping keep his rep intact.

There was one more very important person he needed to see, though. Chuck picked up the phone and buzzed Aurielle, then unlocked the office door and waited for her arrival.

AURIELLE, 1.4

Aurielle was excited when Chuck buzzed her. She'd heard he was back, and she'd been waiting to see him all morning. She'd rushed to his office earlier, but it was crowded with fellow Angels, all wanting to hear about Chuck's exploits. So she had gone back to her desk to wait. They needed to be alone when they spoke. You never knew who you could trust.

She felt special now, singled out. Now that Aurielle had been a key member of Team Castiel and had been instrumental in the successful execution of his plan, she was feeling much less timid. Aurielle was ready to expand on her role as an important and valued member of the team. She couldn't wait to talk to Chuck and find out what her next task would be.

When she entered Chuck's office, Aurielle strode to her seat across his desk with a confidence she had never had before.

"Wow," she said to Chuck, looking at his bruised and beaten face.

He smiled, knowing what she meant. "Yeah," he acknowledged. "Metatron had to make it look convincing. He's a fugitive now, by Heaven's standards. We had to make it look like he overpowered me. No one can know about my role in all this or I wouldn't be able to continue working from the inside."

Aurielle nodded. She understood.

"And how are you doing?" Chuck asked her.

She perked up. "Great. Ready for another assignment. But first...tell me what it was like. On Earth. With Castiel." Her eyes were shining, alive with curiousity.

So Chuck resurrected his tale of valour just once more, making sure to emphasize the team approach. With Aurielle, he didn't have to spin the Metatron-had-us-beaten-and-got-away crap; it was even more enjoyable to be able to paint a picture where he had sent Castiel and Metatron on their way. Vowed to hold the fort and carry the torch in Heaven while they ferreted out the potential assassins on Earth and obtained intel on the Angel terrorist group. This story was as exciting as any movie he had seen while on Earth, and Chuck was proud of it.

Aurielle was also thrilled with the story. She'd been just as shy and retiring in human life as she'd started out here, and had also watched a lot of movies and read a ton of romance novels. This was better than any of them, because it was real, and she was a part of it. She was becoming a different woman now, thanks to Chuck and Castiel. And she was ready for the next step.

"What do you need me to do now?" Aurielle asked Chuck.

He paused, seeing the look on her face. He may have created a bit of a monster here. Was he really going to use this poor girl like he had planned? How rotten was he?

But then Chuck remembered all the times he had been insulted and made to feel small by Dean and Sam Winchester, and Castiel burning the prophecies he'd worked so hard on. He'd spent his life doing everything that was asked of him, and what did he have to show for it? He was the One True Prophet, and he deserved some respect. Instead, with the only exception being this morning, he'd been treated like a loser, an outcast. A creep. And the only way he'd gotten so much play this morning was to invoke the revered name of Castiel as his brother-in-arms, fighting the good fight against evil. Would all of those girls have fawned over him if he had been the only one involved? Would Aurielle be here now? No, of course not, they only wanted to hear about Castiel, Castiel, Castiel.

It was this bitterness and envy that drove Chuck now.

"You'll need to start training immediately," he told Aurielle. "In secret, of course."

"Training for what?" she asked with a thrill of excitement.

"To fight," he replied. "To kill, if necessary."

She was shocked, but when Chuck told her that Castiel needed the protection of an Angel he could trust, Aurielle knew this was her chance to reinvent herself. She could be brave, fearless even, if she was doing it for Castiel.

So she took a deep breath and said, "When do I start?"

CROWLEY, 1.3

Rowena had assembled all of the ingredients for her potion and all that remained now was for Crowley to go to the gravesite by the bunker and retrieve Frank's bones.

But he wanted the Winchesters as far away from the bunker as possible, and Castiel and Gail, too. It just seemed like the prudent thing. None of them knew that he was alive and he wanted to keep it that way until the proper moment. And it wouldn't do to spoil the surprise of seeing Gail's brother Frank, a former Hunter, reanimated as a full Demon and working for Crowley. That particular reveal was something he was very much looking forward to.

Crowley called forth a group of his Demon minions and instructed them to go to a town called Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Once there, they were to possess as many human vessels as possible within a 48-hour period, and use those vessels to kill other humans. He instructed his Demon hit squad to make these murders as bizarre and gruesome as they wanted. "Points will be awarded for creativity," he quipped, then handed out the "no-kill" list to each of his minions. He wanted no errors; once Demons were allowed free rein, they sometimes tended to go off the grid. And he wanted Jody Mills, Dean and Sam, Castiel and Gail left untouched.

Finally, after their 48-hour killing spree, they were to move on to the next town and repeat the process. Crowley wanted his boys and Gail kept busy for a while. The object was not only to keep them away from the bunker but to drive them crazy, chasing killers who kept morphing and then moving on. Once Crowley and Rowena had reanimated Frank, Crowley needed a bit of time to indoctrinate Gail's brother, so to speak. And a complex and continuing case several states away seemed to be just the ticket. The brothers and their helpers would be chasing their tails while the foundation for their demise was being built.

One more thing: "Should any of you be foolish enough to be captured and interrogated, my name is not to be mentioned," he warned them sternly. "Anyone who lets it slip will suffer far worse than the Winchesters could ever do."

Message sent and received. His minions left the den to do the King's bidding. This was gonna be fun.

METATRON, 1.7

Metatron on Earth was like a kid in a candy store. He didn't know where to begin.

Having been one of God's original Angels, he had never been a human. It was kind of fun to live like one for a while. Taking public transportation, seeing the sights, observing people. He had mixed feelings about the human race. On the one hand, humans had created the great works of literature that Metatron had soaked up during his last stay on Earth. Not to mention movies and TV shows. Most pop culture was pure dreck of course, but it was a useful tool when communing with humans. He would take on a persona as Everyman, dumbing himself down enough to fit in. Metatron had a great interest in humans but not much respect for them. As he had sat at God's feet and transcribed His thoughts onto the tablets, Metatron had gained a greater insight into God's mind than any other Angel; but even now he wondered what the hell God had been thinking when He created humans. He could have done so much more with them. The potential for great intelligence and creativity was definitely there, but then God had had to go and screw it up by adding the melting pot of flaws, frailties and emotions.

These latter qualities were on full display as Metatron travelled across America, formulating his plan. For the time being, he had been content to savour his freedom and continue the road trip. The very first thing Metatron had done after blasting open a bank vault and obtaining stacks of the green paper humans used to value themselves had been to visit a tattoo parlour and brand himself with the warding symbol. He didn't want any Angels tracking him down and attempting heroic measures before the real game began.

Not that he really needed to be concerned about such things, Metatron mused. As one of God's first, his powers were more formidable than most Angels' and he felt there were very few who could present a real challenge to him. The only one Metatron thought of as a threat was Castiel. Also one of God's originals, though he had first been created as a meek and ineffectual human named Abel. But God doted on Castiel and had bestowed many gifts on him, not the least of which were powers to rival Metatron's own and the insight to know how and when to use them.

So Metatron would stay well away from his old "friend" Castiel for as long as he could, until Metatron could figure out a way to destroy him once and for all. He sat down at the table in the motel room he'd rented and opened his laptop. Bless humans and their technology, he thought with only a trace of irony. All the spyware one could ever want with the touch of a finger.

When Metatron had first gotten the computer and learned the words Google and YouTube, he'd been fascinated. Murderous fantasies forgotten for the moment, he'd spent days surfing the Net, amazed by what he'd seen. What he'd had planned for humans was nothing compared to what they'd been doing to each other in his absence.

He'd also encountered the surreal when he stumbled upon websites and blogs dedicated to the prophecies Chuck had written about the Winchester brothers while here on Earth. Metatron had known about this little experiment of course, and had thought it amusing. But this was a universe unto itself, and Metatron was bemused. There was something called "fan fiction", in which humans wrote their own stories about Dean, Sam and Castiel. He could see the appeal in this activity, being a Scribe and an aspiring author himself. But his brow wrinkled as he clicked on these stories out of curiousity. While a few had merit and seemed believable, many of these tales seemed to be a forum for the open expression of human sexuality. And while Metatron knew sex to be part of the human experience, he did not quite understand how the description of Dean and Castiel engaging in its sweaty throes provided any enlightenment on the human condition or the struggle between good vs. evil. So after allowing himself a brief smirk of amusement, Metatron had moved on to the next website.

This one provided updates on events called Supernatural conventions. After what he'd just read, Metatron could only imagine what went on at those. So he'd closed the computer then, still amused but more than a little disgusted. Humans.

GARTH, 1.1

Garth woke up and looked around, tring to remember where he was. Oh yeah, when the full moon had risen out of the clouds last night, he'd given in to the urge to run into the woods and howl at it. The wife was out of town visiting a girlfriend who'd just had a baby, and he was lonely. He didn't really have any human friends any more. All of his friends had been Hunters, and he was now a Werewolf, and they didn't exactly hang out any more.

What a strange life Garth now led. He had once been a Hunter himself, heir apparent to the coordinator's job once Bobby had died. After a rocky start, Garth had forged a relationship with Dean and Sam Winchester, and they had eventually come to regard him as an eccentric nephew of sorts. Garth had always been a bit of an oddball and truth be told, he knew he was a little hard to take in large doses. But his heart was in the right place, and he strove to do the right thing even if his methods had been a bit unorthodox.

So Garth had peristed, and had eventually wormed his way into the hearts of the Winchester brothers. They had come to rely on him professionally as they'd relied on Bobby before him. And while his relationship with Sam and Dean could never rival that of the brothers' and Bobby's in terms of closeness and affection, Garth thought that he'd acquitted himself well.

Obviously the Winchesters had thought so too, as they had trusted him to be Kevin's guardian. Kevin was the young man who had gotten the call to translate Metatron's tablets when they were discovered on Earth, and the Winchesters had been trying to protect him from Crowley.

But Garth had dropped the ball, underestimating the threat to Kevin. He had gotten the Hunter's wanderlust and hit the road, leaving young Kevin to fend for himself. And though his abandonment of Kevin was not what had led to poor Kevin's eventual demise, Garth still felt guilty.

So he had remained on the road, throwing himself into the pursuit of Demons and monsters like never before, trying to make up for his lapse in judgment in some way. And he had just begun to work his way back to redemption, at least in his own mind, when he had been bitten by a Werewolf he'd been hunting.

Now Garth was a Werewolf himself. He had been horrified and ashamed at first, and had dropped off the Hunter grid in order to regroup. Finding an intestinal fortitude he didn't know he had, Garth had never attacked another being, even during the full moon. His personality had remained pretty much intact, along with his moral compass, so Garth could never cross that line. He vowed that if he ever did, he'd call the Winchesters himself, and have them come down here and take him out.

So Garth had eked out his existence, susbisting on raw meat, growing more depressed by the day...and then the miracle had happened: Garth had met Bess. She was a Werewolf too, and so were the rest of her family. But they were like him; they had learned how to co-exist with humans without harming them, using Garth's preferred method of eating raw meat combined with maximum self-control. Those that felt weak had others chain them up during the full moon.

Contrary to every instinct he'd had as a Hunter, Garth had bonded with Bess's family, and then he went and fell in love with Bess. They'd gotten married about a year ago and had been living happily ever after since. Well, about as happy as you could be when you turned into a hairy, foam-at-the-mouth maniac once a month. But Garth and Bess had each other for support now, and aside from the occasional love nip, they had kept true to their vow never to harm another being.

But even though Garth had finally come to terms with what he had become and what his life was now, every now and then he wondered if this was it for him. He'd been thinking about the Winchester brothers a lot lately, missing the cameraderie he'd had with them. He wondered what they were doing now. Maybe he could give them a call. He'd told them if they ever needed his help, to give him a ring. But, nada. He knew they weren't exactly comfortable with a friend of theirs being, let's face it, one of the monsters they usually hunted, but after seeing the way he, Bess, and his in-laws led their lives, they'd seemed to be cool with it.

Still, he kept thinking about Dean and Sam. He had the feeling they'd be needing his help, sooner rather than later. So Garth left the woods and went back to the little house he shared with Bess. To wait by the phone. Maybe do some Net surfing.

ROWENA, 1.5

Crowley was preparing to leave for the bunker, gathering a corps of Demons, including the two remaining Knights, to go with him. Better safe than sorry. He'd had minions watching the bunker and though they hadn't yet seen any movement, it was just a matter of time. Moose checked the Internet for potential cases on a regular basis, and he and Squirrel would be putting two and two together any moment now.

Rowena entered the throne room where the group was gathered, waved her hand and said, "Leave us."

She frowned as the Demons looked to Crowley for confirmation before making a move. Although not altogether unexpected, she still thought more respect should be shown for the mother of the King. Deep breath, she thought. Think of the big picture.

So she sauntered in, approaching Crowley on the throne. "We need to talk," she said to him.

He regarded her for a moment, then waved his hand, dismissing his subjects.

Once they'd gone, Rowena told her son, "The potion is nearly ready."

He began to smile, but his smile faded as she continued, "Now I need to know what you're really planning, before I go any further."

DEAN AND SAM, 1.3

Dean set a beer in front of Sam, who was working away at the computer. He then sat down across from Sam, uncapping his own beer. "So what's going on? Anything?"

It was just the two of them for the moment. Gail had volunteered to go out for supplies; she'd been on edge since Cas had disappeared and she needed something to do. Dean had tried to reassure her by saying that Cas did stuff like that all the time, and she supposed she'd better get used to it. But she would feel better if she knew what was going on, or at the very least that he was all right.

Now they were all just waiting, not only for Cas to return, but for...something else. What, they didn't know. But, something.

Sam sat quietly at the computer, clicking away. Dean said, "Earth to Sammy!", but Sam still didn't look up. He did straighten up in his chair though, as if something had caught his attention.

"There've been a series of murders in Sioux Falls, South Dakota," Sam said. "Jody's town," he added, perhaps unnecessarily.

Dean perked up. He knew. "How many murders?"

Sam clicked some more. "Seven, so far." He looked up at Dean. "In the past 24 hours."

"Separate cases?" Dean asked, leaning forward. That many murders in one day in such a small town?

Sam continued to click around for details. "Looks like it," he confirmed. "And...looks pretty gruesome, too. A couple of the vics were flayed, another one had her eyes gouged out, another one's organs were missing."

"Sounds like us," Dean said almost cheerfully. He felt sick about the poor victims of course, but Dean was almost relieved. Things had been too quiet, and this sounded like what he had been waiting for. Dreading.

"I'll call Jody," Sam said, grabbing his cell phone.

But he wasn't able to reach her, either at the office or on her cell. She must be incredibly busy, dealing with that many cases in a town that small. Sam's spidey senses were tingling too. He left messages for Jody that he and Dean were coming.

"Demons?" Dean asked.

"Sounds like it," Sam agreed. "There must be a new Boss in town."

Gail entered the bunker then, coming down the stairs with shopping bags in hand.

"Using the door? Really?" Dean said to her.

"Yeah, I know," she said. "I'm still not used to this popping in and out thing. Besides, if I'm out among humans I'm not supposed to call attention to myself."

That was still so weird, Sam thought, hearing Gail refer to "humans" as beings other than herself. Maybe it was the fact that she had been a human not too long ago herself, or maybe it was his and Dean's influence, but she pretty much acted like a human when she was here with them. Maybe that was why the brothers continued to feel protective of her.

"We've got something," Dean told Gail.

She put the bags down on the other end of the table and approached Sam, peering over his shoulder at the computer. "We think it's Demon activity," Sam said to her.

As he clicked through the reports, Gail was horrified by what she was reading.

"We've gotta go check it out," Dean said. She looked up at him, her heart sinking. Of course they did. They were going to take off without her again, leaving her alone in the bunker with nothing to do but worry. About them, about Castiel. Where WAS he?

"You in or out?" Dean asked her. Gail was surprised. Had she heard him right?

Sam was also surprised. He had not expected this from Dean. They'd talked about this kind of situation possibly arising, but had not reached a consensus. On the one hand, Gail was as trained as she was going to get and even though she hadn't really used it much, she had the Angel juice now. She could be an asset to them. On the other hand, she had no experience, and Sam didn't know if he wanted the distraction of trying to keep her safe.

Sam raised an eyebrow to Dean, and his brother shrugged. Dean understood how Gail must be feeling better than Sam did. She'd done everything she could to make herself ready and clearly was itching to be taken seriously as a member of the team. That's how he would feel if he was in her shoes. Well, he was going to give her the chance. He remembered that day in training when she'd stuck him with the knife, and the surprised look on Sam's face. He knew Sam had his doubts and Dean had his share too, but he figured they had to believe in Gail so she could believe in herself.

Gail was happy to receive Dean's invitation but held back her answer. Was she ready? If only Castiel were here...

On cue, Castiel appeared beside Dean. "I heard you," he said to Gail. "I'm sorry I couldn't come earlier, I was..."

He didn't get a chance to finish. Gail ran to him and threw her arms around him. Surprised, he returned the hug.

"Thank God you're all right," Gail said; then, stepping away from him, "Where were you?"

So he sat down at the table and told them all the story of Metatron's escape.

"We must find him," Castiel concluded his tale with this statement of the obvious.

The Winchesters agreed that Metatron was a threat and had to be recaptured as soon as possible. But there was this business in Sioux Falls, and it was happening now.

Sam had been clicking idly on the computer as they talked, but he didn't even know how to begin. If an Alpha Angel like Metatron didn't want to be found, what could they possibly do?

"He's obviously warded himself," Castiel said. "I can't sense him, and neither can anyone else in Heaven."

"How about God?" Gail asked, puzzled. "Doesn't He see everything, know everything?"

The brothers leaned forward, interested. Gail had cut to the heart of the matter. It was only logical; why didn't the big Boss just step in and put the kibosh on Metatron? Smite him within an inch of his miserable life?

"I don't know," Castiel answered, troubled. He'd been wondering that himself. He'd been wondering a lot of things about God lately. Not to seem blasphemous, or ungrateful, but Castiel was frankly disappointed with his Father. True, things had calmed down in Heaven when God had returned and retaken the helm. But now Metatron had been allowed to escape and was running around somewhere, plotting who knew what. Why had God even allowed him to live? Surely He knew what Metatron had done, and what he was capable of doing if he remained free.

Dean snapped them all back to the present by standing and saying, "Well, until we get a line on Metatron, we've got a case right now. Pack your bags, Sammy." He looked at Cas and Gail. "And you guys do...whatever it is you do."

Castiel reached into his coat and withdrew an Angel blade, handing it to Gail. Their eyes met as she took it from him. This is it, she told him without speaking. I'll try not to let you down. You won't, he replied. I'll be by your side the whole time.

Sam and Dean headed to their rooms to pack.

METATRON, 1.8

Metatron had planned to cut a swath across humanity in his travels, but his first murder was practically an accident.

A strange torpor had come upon him since his return to Earth that he couldn't really explain. He had spent so much time in prison planning and plotting, and now that he was here, he didn't really know what to do with himself. He didn't belong here amongst the humans, and he sure as hell didn't belong among his own kind. Not that they'd have him back, anyway. What did he want to do with his life?

He knew he'd never be forgiven for what he'd done, and Metatron wasn't looking for forgiveness. He felt bitter and ill-used by everyone: God, his fellow Angels, even humans like the Winchesters. So, he'd caused the Fall and had a couple of megalomaniacal moments. Wasn't everything peaceful now? He'd almost be tempted to just disappear and leave everyone alone if he could think of a place to go.

But wherever he belonged, if such a place even existed, it wasn't here. Humans were stupid and slow, at least those he had come across in his travels so far. And he didn't hold out much hope that this fact would change, even if he travelled to the furthest reaches of the globe.

Metatron had tried to engage with people on an intellectual level, only to be disappointed at every turn. He had attended a lecture given by the author of the best-selling book in America, hoping to find a kindred spirit or at least a challenge to his intellect. But the man had been a cretin, barely functionally literate, and he hadn't seemed to even understand Metatron's questions. Hadn't the idiot read his own book? True, some of Metatron's questions had been, well, on the metaphysical level, but he thought he'd dumbed them down enough.

So when Metatron had turned and walked out of the lecture hall, he was both depressed and angry. He wished that God had not "blessed" him with emotions sometimes. For every moment of pure joy he'd experienced after reading a good book or learning an interesting new fact, it seemed like there were ten negative emotions just waiting to bite him in the ass.

Metatron came upon the outdoor patio of a cafe and sat down at one of the tables. He ordered and was served a glass of red wine. Swirling the liquid around in his glass, he continued to self-analyze. Who was he kidding? Metatron was who he was, God had made him as he was, and what good did it do to ask why? There was never going to be an answer. God was many things, but a fund of information He was not. He had outlined the rules for Metatron to transcribe, but He'd never explained why they should be so or His thought process behind, well, anything. It had not been Metatron's or anyone else's place to ask. Only to obey.

Metatron had grown to resent this over the years. Why would God have given him this fine analytical mind if he was not supposed to use it? Wasn't it an intellectual's duty to ask questions, debate things?

If he had been able to rule Heaven, Metatron would have allowed his subjects to ask questions, encouraged it, even. How else did anyone learn? Many of his fellow Angels would benefit greatly from expanding their minds. And as long as they didn't take too many liberties, Metatron would have welcomed the intellectual stimulation.

"Hey, dude," a voice said from behind him, interrupting Metatron's thoughts. He took a sip of wine. Then, a finger, poking his shoulder. "Buddy."

Metatron turned around in his seat and saw a young man with longish hair looking at him. "Yes?" he asked coolly.

"You got a dollar?" the man asked him.

Metatron sighed. He'd been asked this a lot in his travels. Money was very important to humans. He could understand why, in a way: they needed it to purchase food and keep a roof over their heads. But he had observed that many people who had plenty of it seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time trying to acquire more, instead of enjoying what they already had.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a huge wad of bills, peeling off a dollar and handing it to the man.

The stranger eyed the wad of bills, now disappearing back into Metatron's pocket, then looked him in the eyes, waving the dollar bill in Metatron's face. "That's it?" he asked.

Metatron stared at him evenly. "That's what you asked for."

The man said angrily, "You got all that and you give me a lousy dollar?"

Metatron was getting annoyed. "Again, that's what you asked for," he said, gritting his teeth. "Now go away." He turned back in his chair and picked up his glass of wine.

After he'd finished and paid for his drink, Metatron left the cafe and began walking back to the motel. It was quite late by now and the streets were mainly deserted. He heard footsteps behind him and turned around.

It was the young man from the cafe. He pulled a knife out of his pocket and said, "Hand it over."

Metatron was amused. He had no intention of giving his money to this man. But it would be only sporting to give this guy a warning. He had no idea who he was screwing with.

"I think not," Metatron said. "And I'd put that away and walk if I were you. You do not want to engage with me." He was proud of his word usage; tough, menacing.

The man stepped closer, close enough that Metatron could smell his breath, which was predictably bad. He should have given this moron an extra dollar to buy some mouthwash.

"I'm not gonna tell you again," the man threatened.

"Good, because that would be redundant," Metatron said pleasantly enough.

The would-be thief looked puzzled. Of course he's confused, Metatron thought. He probably doesn't even know what the word means.

But it was Metatron's weird attitude that was puzzling him. The guy was a scrawny, nerdy-looking dude, and the street was deserted. Why wasn't he scared?

"I could touch your forehead with one finger and increase your vocabulary a thousandfold," Metatron said, shaking his head, "but instead, I think I'll just do this."

He reached out his hand and put it on the young man's face. His victim screamed in agony and fell to his knees. Metatron grabbed the knife out of his hand and cut the man's throat with it, nearly decapitating him. He fell to the sidewalk, eyes burned out of their sockets and throat gushing.

Metatron stood over the body for a moment, relishing the surge of power he felt. He would have to do this again, soon.

He walked away from the scene, whistling.

Once he had the taste, Metatron was insatiable. He killed three more humans the next day, mainly just because he could. He remained unseen for the first two murders, but was careless for the last. A man had been passing by the alleyway just in time to see Metatron plunging his Angel blade into the homeless man's chest. Luckily, Metatron did not see the witness, who hurried on to a safe place and called the police.

Metatron did have the intelloigence to leave his motel that night, though, moving on to the next town. He boarded the bus and looked out the window, smiling. There were so many towns ahead. So many people.

JODY, 1.1

Jody was fully recovered from her shooting, but she was exhausted. She took off her jacket and duty belt and hung them on the hook by the door and trudged into her apartment, dead on her feet.

She had just pulled off her boots and put her aching feet up on the coffee table when there was a knock to the door.

She groaned, but got to her feet and answered the door.

Sam and Dean were standing there, with Castiel and Gail behind them.

"Hi, Jodes," Sam said. "Told you we were coming. You got our messages, right?"

"Sure. Come on in." Jody stepped back to let them all inside. "Sorry I didn't have a chance to call you, I've just been running from crime scene to crime scene."

"What the hell is going on here?" Dean asked.

"Sit down and I'll tell you." Jody looked at Gail curiously. "We haven't met. I'm Jody Mills." She extended her hand.

Gail shook it. "I'm Gail. I'm..." she trailed off, looking to the brothers for confirmation.

"She's an Angel," Cas said in his usual get-to-the-point manner.

Jody looked at him, then looked back at Gail. "Really?" she said with interest.

"Yeah. Really," Gail confirmed, nodding. "It's OK, I'm just getting used to it myself."

Everybody had a seat and Jody brought them up to speed on the cases so far. Reports of five more victims had come in earlier this evening, and Jody had been so exhausted she hadn't had the chance to view the bodies of the new victims.

"I was hoping to catch a catnap and then head back out," she said, yawning despite herself. "Sorry. I've been working practically around the clock. I don't know what the hell is happening to my town, but I'm gonna find out."  
"Why don't you grab a nap?" Sam suggested to Jody. "We can look at the bodies, see what we can find out."

"Any witnesses to the murders?" Dean asked Jody.

"A few," she answered him. "We can split up and interview them in the morning. But guys-" she pointed her finger at the brothers "-full disclosure. This is still my town, and I'm still the Sheriff."

She yawned again. "Maybe I do need that nap. Where are you staying?"

Dean gave her the motel information and she wrote it down. Then she locked the door behind them and laid down on the couch. Jody was grateful that they'd turned up. Even with a small police force behind her, she couldn't work this many cases by herself. And if these murders were being caused by Demons, as the Winchesters had suggested, she could do a lot worse than having Sam and Dean and two Angels around to help.

GAIL, 1.3

The brothers had gone back to their motel room and changed into suits. Jody had called ahead to the station and advised that the Agents and their partners were to be given free run of the place and access to all the case information they had collected so far.

Gail also ducked into the room next door that she and Castiel were sharing to change into a business suit of her own. It only made sense for her and Castiel to share a separate room. As Angels, they did not sleep, and the Winchesters would need their rest. It was still weird for Gail not to sleep. She would lay down at night and close her eyes, mainly out of habit, but, nothing. Castiel would look at her with amusement in his eyes. She'd get used to it after a while. But Gail never felt tired, or sick, from not sleeping, so she'd given up the attempt. She'd have to teach Castiel how to play cards, or something.

But for now, the four of them got into the Impala and headed to the police station. Sioux Falls was so small that the morgue was a part of the building, so it was one-stop shopping.

Sam began reviewing the files and case notes on the computer as soon as they got situated. Dean wanted to look at the bodies.

"Why don't you stay here and help Sam?" he said to Gail. "Cas and I can go look at the victims."

He was trying to spare her, and for a moment she almost took him up on it. Her stomach turned as she thought about the conditions of the bodies she'd already heard about, and these would likely be no different. But this was what she'd asked for, and she had to get used to it.

"No, I'll come with," she said with a casualness she did not feel.

So here they were in the morgue, and Gail steeled herself as Dean lifted the sheet that covered the body of the first victim.

She bit the inside of her cheek. The body was that of a woman, and she had been flayed. Gail gasped, but she held her ground. Dean looked at her, and Cas put his hand on her arm. "You don't have to do this," he told her.

Gail took a breath. "Yes, I do."

So Dean examined the body and pointed out the signs of a Demon kill for Gail's benefit. Then they went to the next three victims and repeated the process. All of them had a different cause of death according to the charts, but they all died gruesomely.

Then Cas lifted the corner of the sheet that covered the last victim, stepped back, and said, "No. Gail, you should go."

She stepped forward, shaking her head. "I've come this far," she said. "And I'm learning a lot."

"No," Cas said again. "This is too much."

He was looking at her with such concern, such sorrow. What was different about this one? Then she looked at the outline of the body and she knew.

Gail grabbed the sheet and pulled it down. It was a young boy who looked almost exactly like the child she had killed in Crowley's den. Like that child, this boy's body was bloody, crushed...so much violence had been done to his small body, yet the child's face was intact, pristine even.

Dean and Castiel exchanged glances. This looked deliberate. Was this a message of some sort?

Then Gail's knees buckled and Dean leaped forward to catch her. He lowered her to the floor and she clutched at him. That had hit her like a ton of bricks.

"Cas? What the hell?" Dean looked up at him, as Castiel came racing around the table. Gail was sobbing openly now, and Dean was confused. Sure, seeing a kid's body was the worst, but she'd held up pretty stoically till now. What was causing this over-the-top reaction?

But he hadn't seen Gail in the den; only Cas had. He shouldered Dean aside and held Gail while she cried.

After a few minutes, Gail used the back of her hands to wipe her eyes and pulled away from Castiel, composing herself. He was looking at her sadly, his brow furrowed, feeling as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. She kissed him gently on the cheek. "No," she said. "This is just what he would want."

Castiel nodded. Dean was puzzled. What the hell was going on? Was this some kind of Angel crap?

Cas helped Gail to her feet and she took a deep breath.

"He's not going to break me," she said to Castiel. "I won't give him the satisfaction."

He smiled through the pain and kissed her on the forehead.

"No," he responded softly. "We won't."

"Someone want to tell me what the hell you guys are talking about?" Dean said, annoyed.

Cas looked at him. "This was a message for Gail. Crowley's alive."

"What?" Dean said, but Cas and Gail were already leaving the room, headed back towards the office where Sam was. He trailed behind them. Damn Angels.

"Sam needs to hear this, too," Cas said.

They entered the office where Sam was diligently working away on the police computer. He looked up inquiringly as they walked in. Gail closed the door and Cas drew the blinds.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, alarmed. Gail's eyes were red, as if she'd been crying, Cas looked grim, and Dean looked like he was going to blow a gasket.

"Crowley's alive," Cas said bluntly. "These murders are his handiwork. He sent Gail a very personal message."

Sam and Dean had no idea what he was talking about. Castiel had killed Crowley; they had been there, seen it with their own eyes.

"How is that even possible?" Sam asked.

"Cas, you killed him. And then the damn building exploded," Dean added.

"I don't know," Cas said. "I don't know how it's possible. I just know it's true."

"I feel it, too," Gail chimed in. "He's out there, and he's trying to screw with me." She looked at Sam and Dean. They needed to know. So she told them about the child she'd killed in the den. The boy she thought was human at the time, and had killed without the slightest hesitation. The fact that this child had turned out to be a Demon was what had saved her soul and enabled her to make the choice to be an Angel. But she had not known that he was a Demon at the time, and yet she had still done it. It was her greatest shame, and had been a major factor in her decision to become an Angel. She needed to spend the rest of her days making up for it.

The brothers already knew what she'd done, of course. Cas had told them about the Vision in the fireplace. But they now learned that one of the victims of the series of murders resembled that boy so closely that it had nearly torn Gail to pieces.

When she finished her story, Gail felt like she was going to cry again. She blinked back the tears. No. She was tired of blubbering. It hurt like hell, but she was going to have to get past it.

"So you see why we think it's Crowley," she said. "He's the only one who would know-" her voice broke, but she cleared her throat "-what that child looked like."

Castiel looked thoughtful. "Actually," the thought had just occurred to him, "he's NOT the only one."

ROWENA, 1.6

Rowena was waiting for her son to return to the den with Frank's bones, but she wasn't sitting idly.

She came back from the spell that had enabled her to look in on the conversation that had just taken place. Up until that last moment, she'd been quite pleased with herself.

Once Fergus was otherwise occupied, she had performed a spell which called back one of the Demons he had sent on the killing spree. She'd given him the picture of a specific child his King wanted killed in the most gruesome manner possible. But the boy's face was to remain intact. Not a mark on it. The Demon had taken the picture from Rowena and looked at her curiously, but left to obey his instructions. His King had told him to kill humans; what did he care?

After her very unsatisfying conversation with Fergus about his true intentions, Rowena had grown uneasy. Her son had told her he wanted to reanimate Gail's brother Frank and make him into a Demon. She'd found that interesting. The idea was actually impressively diabolical. Fergus reasoned that Gail would be more motivated to join their team if her brother was already a member. And if not...well, Crowley could be very persuasive. He hadn't tortured anyone in a while. He kind of missed the hands-on feeling of a job done correctly.

So Rowena was prepared to help her son reanimate Frank. But she had the feeling there was a lot more that Fergus wasn't telling her. And while she didn't miss the old, namby-pamby version of her son, he had been a lot easier to control. This version was a lot more scheming and ruthless than she'd expected. She hadn't known her son in adult life, having abandoned him when he was 8 years old. Had he always been like this? She wondered if her having forgotten the last couple of words of the incantation she'd used when reviving Fergus had anything to do with the way he was now. Obviously, he'd been some kind of special bastard to have ascended to the throne, but she honestly felt uneasy and she wasn't sure why.

That was why she'd pulled the trigger so quickly. Researched Sioux Falls on the computer, found a child resembling the Demon Gail had killed, and instructed Crowley's man as she did. The fact that the boy resembled Gail's victim that much was a happy coincidence, but many children that age looked alike to Rowena. So just to be on the safe side, she'd had the same Demon possess the medical examiner, just long enough to tape the hex bag she'd given him to the underside of the gurney where the child's body lay. When Gail and Castiel viewed the body, their eyes saw the child as identical.

Rowena felt sure they would reach the conclusion that they did: that Crowley was still alive. She had planned all along for them to find out.

But that last statement of Castiel's had made her uneasy. Rowena had also been there in the den, and she didn't want to be on their radar.

So she resummoned the Demon who had killed the child and told him to meet Crowley at 11 p.m. at the town's only motel. The King wanted to commend him in person for a job well done, and was coming for a progress report. The Demon quickly agreed, happy to be singled out by the King.

After he'd left, Rowena picked up the phone and called the Sioux Falls police department, leaving an anonymous tip for the visiting FBI agents that a person of interest would be in the lobby of the motel they were staying in tonight at 11 p.m. She hung up when they'd asked for her name.

She smiled. It was always good to have a Plan B.

SAM, 1.1

Sam had noticed something else on the police computer, though he hadn't yet mentioned it to anyone, not even Dean. Small town or no, Jody had insisted on keeping up with the latest technology, so her office computer was connected to a national crime database, complete with a cross-reference system which detected patterns. An alert had come through about a wave of possible serial killings in Texas. The bodies had been piling up all over the state, and the M.O. was always the same: the victims had all been stabbed with a knife of larger-than-usual dimensions, and their eyes had been burned right out of their skulls.

Sam's eyes widened. Large blade? Eyes burned out of their sockets? Were these Angel killings?

That was all they'd need. As if their plates weren't full enough right now. What the hell was going on all of a sudden?

But the shock of finding out that Cas and Gail thought that Crowley was behind the murders they were working on drove the other murders from his mind for the moment. Then an officer had arrived with the anonymous tip.

"It's the only motel in town," he told the others. "Logically, it's where we'd be staying. Someone's setting us up."

"So, what's new?" Dean asked sarcastically, taking out his cell phone. "I'm calling Jody. She'll want in on this, and we could use the help. So it's a trap, so what? Time to turn the tables on these bastards."

GARTH, 1.2

When Bess came home from her trip, Garth told her how he'd been feeling about the Winchesters.

She had met the brothers and thought they were decent men, but Bess didn't know them as Garth did. She was uncomfortable at the thought of his wanting to re-establish his relationship with them. Bottom line: they were Hunters and she and her family were Werewolves. Just because they'd gotten a free pass last time didn't mean they would again.

So she was able to deter her husband for the moment, but only for the moment. She knew how stubborn he could be.

METATRON, 1.9

He was puzzled, and growing annoyed.

Metatron had drifted through the great state of Texas, hacking and slashing humans at a prodigious rate. He never stayed in one place long enough to risk detection, but knew by checking the Internet and reading the newspaper that his crime spree had been noticed by law enforcement. The press was calling them serial killings, and reporters were struggling to come up with a suitable nickname for the perpetrator.

It was a bit of a thrill to be outsmarting the police in all those different jurisdictions, but it wasn't enough. Metatron knew that the police forces from different counties and cities rarely worked seamlessly together on such matters. Petty jealousies and territorial concerns frequently reared their heads, and let's face it, these were humans. Sherlock Holmes was a fictional character; there were no creatures of intellect here.

The murders were still satisfying enough, but Metatron had come to realize that he needed a challenge. It was time to draw out Castiel and the Winchesters. He was frankly surprised that they hadn't shown up by now. He thought the M.O. was, you should pardon the expression, a dead giveaway.

Time to step it up. He would have to head to a larger city and use the unified police force there to collate the clues. He would leave a one-word note with every corpse from now on. A riddle. See how long it took the boneheads to figure it out.

Metatron packed his bags and walked to the bus station, buying a ticket for Dallas.

JODY, 1.2

The ringing of her cell phone woke Jody up. She'd fallen asleep on the couch, still dressed in full uniform.

She grabbed the phone. "Yeah. Mills here."

It was Dean. He told her about the anonymous tip; they were going to ambush whoever arrived at the motel lobby at 11.

She looked at her watch. It was nearly 10:30. She'd better get a move on.

"Lose the uniform," Dean said. "We don't know what we're dealing with here."

Jody understood. She'd known the Winchesters long enough now. Sometimes when you were handling a case of supernatural origin you had to throw away the rule book. Depending on who - or what - would show up tonight, it might be better if she did not wear her Sheriff hat.

"OK, Dean," she confirmed. "I'll definitely bring the weapons, though."

He smiled grimly. "The more, the better."

Jody hung up and rushed to the bedroom to change.

GARTH, 1.3

Garth snuck into the bathroom with his cell phone and paused with his finger hovering over Dean's number on the speed dial. He was torn between his growing urge to make contact with the brothers and his loyalty to his wife.

He knew Bess was leery of his association with the Winchesters and he had promised her he'd stand down for now. But if he could only make her understand...his dread was increasing with every day that passed. His dreams were filled with scenes of the brothers' deaths at the hands of various entities. Vampires, Demons, you name it.

But last night's dream had been the worst. He had seen the Winchesters on the ground in the forest clearing, their throats being ripped out by Bess and her family. He'd woken up, sweating, his pulse beating at his temples.

It was the remembrance of this dream that made him put the phone back in his pocket. God help him, when he'd seen and smelled the Winchesters' blood in his dream he had been horrified. But he had also been very, very hungry.

CHUCK, 1.4

Chuck stood in the next room, watching Aurielle in training through a two-way mirror.

He was pleased with her progress, and admittedly, a little surprised. When he'd first gotten to know her, she'd been shy and socially awkward. But the mission he had given her had transformed Aurielle.

She fought with the skill and ferocity of a seasoned professional. She had channeled her infatuation with Castiel and her desire to stand up for God and for Heaven, and her passion was evident as she took down one would-be enemy after another.

Chuck had seen what he came to see. She was almost ready.

DEAN, 1.2

A couple of minutes to 11, and they were in position.

After having slipped the motel clerk a couple of twenties to diappear for half an hour, Dean was crouched behind the front desk in the lobby. The door had chimes above it; if a human entered, he would hear.

Sam was around the corner of the lobby, keeping a lookout. If whatever it was they were supposed to be seeing did not use doors, he would be ready.

Jody, Castiel and Gail were patrolling outside the motel, watching for any arrivals. Depending on what they saw, each of the trio was equipped with a cell phone, prepared to call the brothers and warn them if need be.

They were discreet, mostly concealed by the darkness and the bushes planted around the motel perimeter. But Castiel was watching Gail just as carefully as he was watching the front door of the motel. This was her first foray into the world of the Hunter, and they were dealing with Demons, possibly even Crowley himself. She was well trained, but had already shown herself to be vulnerable. And his feelings for her, whatever they were, had made him vulnerable as well. He frowned. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

But it was too late to turn back now. A man approached the front door of the motel, and as he looked around, the lights surrounding the entrance shone into his back eyes. Demon. Then the man entered the motel.

One Demon? Hardly an ambush, Jody thought. Sam and Dean could handle this guy with one arm tied behind their backs. Was he an informant, maybe?

The trio continued to keep guard, but no one else showed up. Was that it?

Closest to the front door, Jody edged closer to listen in on what was going on inside. At the first sign of trouble, she'd storm in.

The Demon walked into the motel lobby. He saw no one. But he was on time for his meeting with the Boss, so he would wait.

No one was at the front desk. He could see that there was an alcove on the other side of the room; he moved there now, to sit down and wait.

The Demon turned the corner and walked right into Sam. One look at its face and Sam knew immediately what they were dealing with. He grabbed the Demon before the latter could react and put his knife to its throat.

"Sam Winchester," the Demon growled. "Where's your brother?"

On cue, Dean came around the corner and slapped the demon-proofed cuffs on him once Sam had turned him around. Hands cuffed behind his back and the Winchesters' knives pointed at him, there wasn't much he could do. Crap.

The brothers marched the Demon back through the lobby and outside.

Jody, Castiel and Gail emerged from the bushes and approached them.

"See anyone else?" Dean asked.

"No. All quiet," Jody answered. This was weird, she thought. The perfect opportunity for an ambush, and they send this one guy? Something was fishy.

"We're gonna take this guy and ask a few questions," Dean told the others. He and Sam bound the Demon and threw him into the trunk of the Impala.

"Why don't you go get some more rest, Jody?" Sam suggested.

She started to protest, then shut her mouth. She knew what was about to take place. Demon or not, this was still a human vessel, and after the brothers were done with him he'd be a murder victim. She was the Sheriff. Best to stay away for now. Besides, she was still tired, and it would be another long day tomorrow.

So she left for home, advising Dean she wanted a full report on whatever he was able to find out.

Dean got behind the wheel and Sam, Castiel and Gail piled into the car. They drove to the outskirts of town, where there was a deserted farmhouse that the brothers had used before. With Jody's assistance, they had set up a chair with chains attached to it and a devil's trap painted on the floor underneath it. For several years now, Jody had used her position in town to keep any would-be neighbours far enough away from the house to be well out of earshot.

So when their Demon captive was put in the chair, Sam and Castiel attaching the chains, Dean knew he had carte blanche. This son of a bitch was going to provide them with some answers before they killed him.

"You're wasting your time," the Demon sneered. "I confess, I killed some people. There. No need for interrogation."

"Oh, well in that case..." Dean said casually, then carved the Demon's cheek with his knife and the Demon screamed in pain.

Gail knew what they were there for; she was no fool. But she'd been unprepared for this demonstration of brutality from Dean. He'd done this many times before of course, and much worse, especially when he'd had the Mark of Cain on his arm. The Mark was now gone, but Dean did his best work when he was pissed off, and he was pissed off now. This guy was going to tell them everything he knew about the murders, and most specifically, who was behind them.

He continued to carve up the Demon, who continued to defy Dean, spewing obscenities. Dean became more and more frustrated, and his victim could see that.

The Demon laughed at Dean. "You must be out of practice," he taunted. "When you come back to Hell, we'll have to give you a refresher course on how to torture."

Dean saw red. Sam could see he was about to blow and, fearing they'd lose their only source of information, Sam grabbed Dean's arm as Dean raised his knife again.

"Outside. Now," he said to Dean. His brother glared at him, but Dean lowered his arm and allowed Sam to lead him out of the house.

This left Castiel and Gail alone with the Demon, and Cas had had enough. He withdrew the Angel blade from his coat and pointed it at the Demon's throat.

"Who ordered these killings?" Castiel demanded.

The Demon laughed again. "The famous Castiel. What a badass you are." The Demon's eyes flicked to Gail. "That your little Angel girlfriend? Does she know what you really are? What you've done?"

Castiel was angry now, but of course, that was the point. He ripped open the Demon's shirt, using all his self-control not to ram his blade into the thing's chest. He slashed the blade across the Demon's stomach three, four, five times, eliciting screams of pain.

"Who ordered these killings?" Castiel asked again, slashing the Demon again, then again. "I can do this all night."

If Gail had been taken aback by Dean's earlier brutality, she was completely shocked now. She knew Castiel had been a warrior, but she never expected this. Her mind flashed back to the momentary fear she'd felt before facing off with Castiel in the training room. This was the side of him she'd always somehow known was there, and it was frightening to behold. And what had the Demon meant when he'd asked Castiel if she knew what he was and what he'd done? What was he talking about?

Sam and Dean came back into the room then, and it was Dean's turn to pull Castiel back. Cas was breathing heavily and had that look in his eyes, a look that Dean had seen only a handful of times. Cas had had that look when he had almost killed Dean over possession of the Angel tablet. He'd been brainwashed and controlled by the Angel Naomi then and though he'd stopped himself short of actually killing Dean, he'd come very close. That was the second time Dean had been terrified of Cas and of his power. But he had appealed to Cas then and Cas had stood down, breaking Naomi's spell.

"Cas!" Dean grabbed his arm. "Come on, man. Step away."

Castiel's eyes flashed bright blue, then he relented and walked back to the wall to stand beside Gail. She looked at him curiously, making Castiel feel uncomfortable.

"Demons lie," he said to her. But a voice inside him asked: Who's lying now?

METATRON, 1.10

He had worked all day on the riddle, wanting it to be just perfect. But the sun was going down now and Metatron was eager to get started.

Maybe he was overthinking this. Perhaps he should make it simpler. His target was a man of few words; just this once, maybe Metatron could take a leaf out of Castiel's book and follow suit.

With a sudden burst of inspiration, Metatron sat down and wrote out eleven words on separate pieces of paper, one to be attached to each human he planned to kill tomorrow.

"The latest murder victims cry out to the First for justice."

There. He smiled down at the words. Sometimes simplest was best. Once the victims were found and the notes assembled in the proper order, this would be a red flag. And if the humans were unable to accommodate him, he would help them out by placing an anonymous call to the Dallas police.

Metatron sat back, a smug smile on his face. Castiel would come. And Metatron would destroy him.

DEAN, 1.3

After he'd gotten Castiel to stand down, Dean faced the Demon once again, knife in hand. Sam had gotten Dean to cool off somewhat, but he was still on low simmer. He had to appreciate the job Cas had done on this joker in his absence.

When he and Sam had walked back into the room, Dean had picked up on the palpable tension between Cas and Gail, and he'd heard Cas's comment. Demons did lie, Dean knew that, but he wondered what this guy had said to make Cas do such a number on him. He knew the Demon hadn't yet told them what they wanted to know or Cas would have killed him.

So Dean went back to torturing the Demon but did so slowly, methodically. Not losing his temper. And the cracks were beginning to show.

Eventually, their captive yelled, "Stop! I'll tell you!"

Dean leaned forward. "I'm all ears."

"It was the King," the Demon said, his mouth sputtering with blood.

"Elvis?" Dean quipped, but his pulse quickened.

"The King of Hell," the Demon retorted, knowing he was well and truly screwed now but needing to end the torture. "Crowley."

Dean straightened up and exchanged glances with his three companions. So it was true. Crowley was still alive. But, how?

They'd worry about that later. Right now, Dean had a message for the King of Hell.

He turned back to the broken and bleeding Demon in the chair. "Say hi to him for us. And tell him we'll be seeing him soon." He smiled and plunged the knife into the Demon's chest.

AURIELLE, 1.5

She entered Chuck's office, walking confidently, head held high.

Aurielle's eyes were shining, Chuck noticed, and she had the bearing of a warrior Angel now. Again, the thought flashed briefly through his mind that he'd created a monster. Over the years, he'd seen that religious fervour combined with weaponry made a dangerous combination and here he was, building the bomb.

But it was too late now. He couldn't turn back even if he wanted to. He had exchanged messages with Metatron on a secret frequency of Angel Radio and he knew what Metatron had been up to. Chuck was impressed, and more than a little scared. Like it or not, he had hitched his wagon to Metatron's star, and Chuck couldn't back off now or Metatron would eat him for breakfast.

So he had told Metatron he was sending Aurielle to Earth, to assist him in taking down Castiel. Metatron had been angry at first, insisting he didn't need the help of some ordinary Angel, and a girl Angel at that. But then Chuck explained what he'd had in mind and the role Aurielle was going to play, and Metatron had relented.

As Aurielle sat down across from Chuck, she saw the look on his face and knew that he was impressed. She had transformed herself into a confident, capable fighter and she could see that he knew it.

She leaned forward across the desk. "I'm ready and we both know it," she said. "What's my assignment?"

So Chuck spun his latest story. Metatron was in Texas, and he had been killing members of the Angel terrorist squad and the humans who were helping and sheltering them. He was operating alone at the moment. Castiel had accompanied the Winchesters to South Dakota at Gail's urging to assist with some Demon killings there. Castiel had not wanted to leave Metatron's side, but he was besotted with his love for Gail and blinded by his devotion to the Winchesters.

Gail had her own agenda, of course, Chuck told Aurielle. She'd wanted to get Castiel away from Metatron, distract him from the mission. She hadn't wanted to lose many more of her group.

So Aurielle was to go to Texas to help Metatron. He was going to put out an urgent plea for Castiel to return, and to bring Gail with him. Gail would have no choice but to comply, as she needed to retain her cover.

And once Castiel and Gail arrived, Aurielle was to kill Gail. But first she would have to be tortured, and in front of Castiel, until she confessed to her role as a member of the terrorist group. A spy. And when Castiel learned the truth and Gail was dispatched, he would realize what Aurielle had saved him from, and he would be eternally grateful. And there Aurielle would be, the warrior who was really on his side, ready to pick up the pieces of Castiel's broken heart.

It was a better scenario than Aurielle could ever have imagined, even back in the days of her romance novels. She could already picture Castiel holding her while she comforted him.

"I'm ready to go," she told Chuck, springing to her feet.

"Gather your weapons," Chuck instructed her. "I'm awaiting word from Metatron. Once we have the green light, I'll send for you. Metatron has special powers; we'll have to send you to Earth in your true form, but he'll be able to provide you with a vessel identical to your current appearance. So Castiel will recognize you."

Aurielle smiled and left the office.

Chuck sat at his desk for quite a while after she left, deep in thought. What a bloodbath this was going to be. Hopefully Aurielle would be able to torture and kill Gail before Aurielle realized she was being set up. Before she realized that her precious Castiel and Metatron were about as far from allies as you could get. There was no terrorist group, and there was nothing for Gail to confess to. Once Aurielle had killed Gail, Castiel would have no choice but to kill Aurielle. Even if she didn't succeed in killing Gail, Castiel would be distracted, devastated seeing Gail tortured. Then Metatron would come in and finish him off. And if the females survived, Metatron would kill them too, leaving no witnesses and no trail back to Heaven and to Chuck.

He spared a thought for poor Aurielle, then shrugged. Collateral damage. At least she'd die in the company of the Angel she loved so much.

GOD, 1.2

He had heard the discussion a while back between His Angel children and the Winchesters, and God had mixed feelings about it.

Like all of the beings He had made, God Himself felt emotions, and plenty of them. Feelings and emotions were the spice of life in any form, and how dull things would be without them. So when God had created Angels and humans, He had given them all of His qualities, both positive and negative.

Contrary to what most humans thought, at least those who prayed to Him and His Angels by extension, God could not be everywhere at once. No one could. He actually could choose to see anyone or anything He wanted at any given time, but there was a lot He chose not to look at.

God was aware that His thought process and methods were beyond understanding, and He did not much care. That was the main perk of being the originator of all creation; He did not have to explain Himself to anyone. There was always a plan, an endgame for everything.

He was also aware that Castiel was doubting Him, wondering why his Father had not stepped in to prevent Metatron's escape. He did not blame his son for being confused. On the surface, God knew that Metatron was bad news for humanity and Angels alike. His term in prison had embittered Metatron and made him hungry for revenge. But Metatron was also one of God's original Angels. He could still remember the Scribe sitting at his feet as God had given him the Word so very long ago. Metatron had looked up at Him with such awe, such belief...God sighed. There was a soft spot in His heart for His Originals, and He often gave them the benefit of the doubt, sometimes making excuses for them.

It saddened Him to see what Metatron had become. God also knew what Castiel did not yet know; that Metatron had murdered a number of humans and was planning to murder more. Yet God would not make a move against Metatron. This was one of those endgame scenarios. God was thinking longer term, big picture. It was unfortunate that a number of humans would die, but this was not without precedent. Noah's Ark, Sodom and Gomorrah, it was all there in the bestseller. And the worthy people who were sacrificed would ascend to Heaven.

But God would not let anything happen to Castiel and Gail. He had watched them enter the Sioux Falls morgue, and had seen Gail's reaction upon viewing that poor child's body. He had been happy to see her remorse; it proved to Him that He had made the right decision when He had given Gail her wish to become an Angel and to work with Castiel. His son had been lonely for too long. Even though Castiel now had the Winchester brothers for companionship as God had arranged, his Father had been wanting to give him a partner, another Angel that would always be at his side. God had long-term plans for Castiel and He had been very patient with His son up to this point, giving him several chances to get back on the path when he had strayed.

It hadn't been easy, though. After several missteps and lapses in judgment, to say the least, Castiel had naively teamed up with Metatron, resulting in the Fall. God had been elsewhere at the time, watching with amazement as His children fell one by one from their home. Part of the blame lay with God Himself; He had been on a road trip at the time and had not been paying close enough attention to what was going on. Like Castiel, God had trusted Metatron to do what was right and, as Dean Winchester would say, that was on Him.

But the legends about God were mainly true, and He was very angry upon seeing his children dropping to Earth, many of them dying on impact. Then He had watched as the remaining Angels had come together in groups and began slaughtering each other in a battle for supremacy.

At that point, God had had it. He allowed Metatron to take most of Castiel's Grace and had cast His son down to Earth to live life as a human for a while. His son needed to be humbled, and he also needed a wake-up call. But Castiel had since justified his Father's faith in him. His time as a human had indeed transformed him into the kind of Angel that God had always thought Castiel could be. He was compassionate and merciful, demonstrating an empathy for humans, having been among their number. But he had not lost his edge, which was also a necessary quality. When dealing with Demons and their ilk, the dispensation of swift justice was mandatory.

God also knew that his son Cain was back in play, acting under the adopted name of Crowley. He had felt a certain sense of poetic justice when Castiel had been the one to kill Crowley; it was only fair that Abel be given the opportunity to administer the ultimate punishment upon his brother. But the witch Rowena had used her unholy spell to raise Crowley from the dead and he once again reigned as the King of Hell.

For every yin there was a yang, and God needed Hell to stay in business. Humans needed a deterrent, an assurance that reprehensible behaviour in life would lead to eternal damnation in Hell. So God had allowed Crowley and his predecessors to continue operations, only stepping in when their actions became too egregious or when harm was about to come to one of His Chosen.

Sam and Dean Winchester were among the few humans that God had designated to that status. They had been on his radar from birth and as He had followed their progress throughout the years, He had deemed them worth saving. They had dedicated their lives to protecting the human race, often at great personal risk and sacrifice. So God had sent Castiel to assist and watch over them, and then He had sent Gail.

He had also noticed Gail from birth, recognizing her as one of His humans who had been born with special powers. God had always been a fan of variety, and every now and then He imbued random humans with certain powers, just to see what they would do with them. Some, like Gail, chose to use their Healing powers to help others; while others, like Rowena, chose to use magic to harm others and condemn souls.

Gail had had her fair share of adversity from a young age, much like the Winchesters, and God had arranged their meeting as a mutually beneficial situation. He had been delighted when Gail had cured Castiel on that first night. Her determination and quick action to Heal his son had convinced God that she should be Castiel's partner. True, Crowley had tried to take Gail's soul and had nearly succeeded, but at the eleventh hour God had sent Castiel the Vision and his son had saved Gail on Christmas Eve, just as Gail had saved Castiel at the beginning.

And now, with dangerous forces all around His Chosen, God would continue to sit back and watch the events unfold, only stepping in if absolutely necessary. The biggest tests they had ever faced were ahead for Castiel and Gail, and Dean and Sam Winchester.

SAM, 1.2

Sam and Jody had spent most of their day interviewing family members and friends of the killers, and witnesses to the murders in Sioux Falls, and they were now back in Jody's apartment. Jody had put a pot of coffee on and they were going over their interview notes.

Dean, Castiel and Gail had gone on to the next town. There had been a series of murders in Harrisburg over the past 24 hours too similar to the ones in Sioux Falls to ignore.

And while there had been no new cases in Sioux Falls since yesterday, of which Sam was glad, he had offered to stay behind to help Jody with the investigation. So they drank coffee and went over what they'd learned.

Jody frowned. "This makes no sense. A Demon possesses a human, uses them to commit a random murder, then apparently moves on to another human? What's the point?"

Sam shook his head slowly. He didn't know. And it was weird; there had been a number of killings here over the past 2 days and then they had just...stopped. Now it seemed like they had started up again in Harrisburg. What the hell was Crowley trying to pull? Was he trying to lead them somewhere, or was he just screwing with them?

It appeared as if the Demons had all left Sioux Falls and taken their act on the road. Sam hadn't spotted any Demons while going around town with Jody, and a couple of very confused eyewitnesses had reported seeing what they'd thought was black smoke issuing out of the mouths of the human killers.

Jody still didn't know what she was going to do about that. The people she had in the county jail had been possessed by Demons when they'd committed the murders; now the Demons had left their vessels and the killers had no memory of what they'd done. Technically, the prisoners themselves were not guilty and should be set free. But how could they explain this to the townspeople?

It was a wonder that the Winchesters hadn't lost their minds; they probably had to deal with dilemmas like this all the time. Maybe she should just retire, Jody thought, sighing.

She and Sam sat back, sipping their coffee and enjoying a rare moment of quiet.

Jody looked at Sam. "So...this friend of yours, Gail...she's..."

"An Angel," Sam confirmed. "I know, pretty freaky, huh? It's taking us a while to get used to it, too."

Sam and Jody had kept in touch over the past few months, calls and emails here and there. Jody had been the Winchesters' friend for a number of years now and she was in the inner circle. While not a Hunter per se, Jody had lost her husband and child to monsters and she knew about and had fought some creatures from the supernatural world. Though not quite old enough in years, Jody had become somewhat of a maternal figure for Sam and Dean. Of the two brothers, Sam was the closest to Jody; after all, he didn't have any recollection of his own mother. She had been killed by a Demon when Sam had been a baby.

Jody wasn't feeling as much motherly as mischevious now, though. She felt tired and punchy, and needed a diversion from all the grimness of the murders for a minute.

She put down her cup and looked Sam in the eye. "Sam, I gotta ask..."

He raised his eyebrows.

"What's the deal with Cas and Gail?" Jody asked, a smile forming on her lips.

"The deal?" Sam echoed. Though he had a pretty good idea of what she was getting at.

"Yeah, you know...Are they a couple, or what?"

"Why are you asking, Jodes?" Sam teased her. "You want to know if Cas is taken?"

She punched him on the arm.

"Ow!" Sam exclaimed, but he was laughing.

"I was just curious," Jody said. "When they were here, and when I saw him watching her at the motel more than he was watching the door, I just got a feeling that there was something there."

Sam rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. "Nobody knows," he said. "I don't even think they know themselves."

Jody took another sip of coffee and leaned forward.

"Do Angels..." she began, and Sam raised his eyebrows again, "Do they...you know...?"

Sam smirked. "That's another thing that nobody knows," he replied. "And Dean and I don't wanna know."

They laughed together, glad to be sharing a lighter moment in the midst of all this craziness.

A notification sounded on Jody's laptop then, which was sitting on the coffee table between them. Jody clicked on the alert and looked at it, puzzled.

"Serial killings in Texas? They must have sent this to the wrong PD," she remarked.

"Actually, that's for me," Sam said quickly. He proceeded to explain how he had seen the notification about the Texas cases back in her office. He'd put it on the back burner of his thoughts while dealing with the events in Sioux Falls, but it had been bugging him. So he'd requested any updates to come through on Jody's computer.

"I didn't think you'd mind," he said to her. "What I read sounded like Angel killings, and I just wanted to keep an eye on the situation."

It was Jody's turn to raise her eyebrows. Angel killings?

She turned the laptop towards Sam so he could see the alert. He read the update, appalled. There had been 11 murders in Dallas, and a one-word note had been pinned to each victim. It seemed that the killer, or killers, were trying to send the police a message.

The words, in the order the victims were found, were:

"Cry First for justice latest murder out the to the victims."

What? Sam thought. What the hell did that mean? Then he realized; this must be the anagram of a sentence. It didn't make any sense the way it was written here, but this was the order in which the victims were found, not necessarily the order in which the notes were left.

Sam asked Jody for a piece of paper and a pen, and he jotted down the words, trying out different ways to rearrange them. The fact that the word "First" was capitalized when none of the other words were had to be significant.

He and Jody looked at the words together, brainstorming suggestions for rearranging them in a way that made sense.

And while they were working on that, another alert came through on the computer. There was a break in the case; an eyewitness to one of the murders had come forward and collaborated with a police sketch artist to come up with a composite drawing of the suspect.

Sam clicked on the attachment and his heart stopped for a moment. This was bad; really, really bad.

Jody said, "I think I've got it. Though I still don't understand it."

He looked down at the paper, where she'd written: "The latest murder victims cry out to the First for justice."

The First, Sam thought. The First. The first, what? The first murder victim? His mouth dropped open. The First murder victim was Abel, killed by his brother Cain. Abel, aka, Castiel.

And the composite was the spitting image of Metatron.

Sam sprang to his feet. "I've got to go to Harrisburg. Now."

DEAN, 1.4

Dean leaned against the Impala, frustrated. He and his Angel companions had spent the last day or so investigating the murders here in Harrisburg and all they had come up with was a carbon copy of Sioux Falls.

He and Sam had talked earlier and compared notes: same number of victims, same gruesome deaths. Demons possessing human vessels just long enough to commit murder and then taking off.

The killings had ceased here too, and the Sheriff of Harrisburg was left as mystified as Jody had been. But Sheriff Banks didn't have the benefit of the special knowledge that his colleague did. He had welcomed the presence of the FBI agents and had also given the trio carte blanche. But Dean had no clue what to tell the poor guy.

"What the hell?" Dean fumed to Cas and Gail. "What's Crowley trying to pull?"

None of them knew. They only knew that the Demons had moved on, leaving their human vessels behind to wonder what they had done, and the Sheriff to wonder why.

There had been no red flags here in Harrisburg like there had been with the child's body in Sioux Falls, just a bunch of dead people and a mess for the Sheriff to clean up. But now that they knew that Crowley had ordered the killing spree, Dean wondered where they went from here.

Dean's cell phone rang. It was Sam. "We need to talk," he told his brother. "But don't say it's me, and DO NOT put me on speaker."

"OK, right," Dean played along, moving away from Cas and Gail. "What's going on, Sammy?" Dean said when he was out of earshot.

So Sam told him about the serial killings in Texas, the anagrammed sentence, and the composite of Metatron.

"Holy crap," Dean breathed. He agreed with his brother: this was bad.

"I'm on my way there," Sam said. "We've got to tell Cas."

Dean was about to make a sarcastic comment about Angels, but restrained himself when he looked at Cas and Gail. They were looking at him sharply. He'd better not take a chance. Best to wait till Sam got here, then they could all sit down together and figure out what to do.

CASTIEL, 1.6

Castiel looked at Dean speculatively as Dean answered his cell phone and immediately moved away from them. Why had Dean done that? Was he hiding something?

One look at Gail and he knew she was wondering the same thing. They were celestial beings, which Dean must have forgotten, so Cas and Gail both knew that Dean was talking to Sam and they had heard Dean swear. He hadn't said anything else of significance for them to overhear, but his friends knew the call had upset him.

"What was that about, Dean?" Cas asked him when Dean returned to the car.

"Huh?" Dean said, his mind still reeling from what Sam had told him. "Oh, that? Nothing."

Gail was not fooled, either. She knew Dean's worried face by now, and she was looking at it. She was about to question him further when Dean said, "Let's go back to the motel."

"You were talking to Sam," Cas said. "What did he tell you?"

Damn Angels. He knew he hadn't moved far enough away. Dean would have to keep reminding himself not to say anything he didn't want heard in the same hemisphere as these two. So he went with the only part of the conversation he could share at the moment: "He's coming here," Dean said simply.

Dean texted Sam the address of the motel where they were staying and the trio went there to await his arrival.

Cas wasn't happy about Dean clamming up like that. The fact that they were waiting for Sam to arrive was significant. Usually the worst news was shared when the four of them were together.

He now regretted having burned Chuck's transcript. Another bad decision in a long line of them, Cas thought ruefully. By having done so in front of God, he had both symbolically and realistically given up his power to see into the future. How could he have been so stupid?

Now Crowley was, somehow, alive. And the Winchesters had something they weren't sharing. Also, Gail had been decidedly cool towards him over the past couple of days, ever since he had tortured the Demon in Sioux Falls. He had explained to her why he had done what he'd done later that night when they were alone and she'd said she understood. Was it what the Demon had said? he'd asked her. She'd acknowledged that it had bothered her, even though she knew that Demons were liars and their captive was just trying to get under their skin. But Castiel wasn't convinced. Gail's attitude towards him suggested she knew Cas hadn't told her the whole story about himself. He was hesitant to come clean but not telling her the full truth was also making him feel uneasy.

So, paralyzed with the fear of making yet another wrong decision, Cas had done nothing. But he knew this would not work in the long run. Sooner or later Gail was going to demand answers and he'd have to be prepared to give them.

The trio hung out in Dean's room at the motel, waiting for Sam. Dean was having a beer, Cas was sitting quietly on one of the beds, and Gail was playing around on Dean's laptop, clicking idly, trying to pass the time. She saw in the news that there had been a rash of killings in the state of Texas and looked closer at the article. But because the case didn't have the earmarks of Demon killings and because there was a composite drawing of a lone suspect, Gail didn't mention what she'd seen to her friends. Poor people, she thought. What's the world coming to? She was a little surprised by the appearance of the suspect. A little guy, with a nerdy, almost koala-bear-like quality. Not the sort of man you'd peg to be a serial killer.

But then Gail had never met Metatron, had no idea what he looked like.

She went on to other websites, searching for some happier news.

CROWLEY, 1.4

Once he'd heard directly from Hell that the Demon who had been captured had given up his name, Crowley had ordered his Demon hit squad to stand down. There was no longer any point in continuing. The proverbial cat was out of the bag.

He'd been furious when he found out. What had he told them about not mentioning his name? Was there no one who could follow a simple order any more? Well, that particular minion had an eternity of torture to look forward to now, after he'd given up his King's name in an effort to avoid more torture. There was a rich irony in that, one Crowley vowed to appreciate once he regained control of his temper.

So now they knew. It was much sooner than he'd planned on. He'd only had a reanimated Frank in his possession for a few days, and it had taken weeks to fully indoctrinate Gail.

Deciding to check on the progress of his charge, Crowley left the throne room and walked to the dungeon.

FRANK, 1.1

Frank was in his own cell, separated from the other captives. He could hear them cry out from time to time, begging for release.

He was chained to the wall. He had struggled upon being brought here, but he was shackled good and proper. He'd had a lot of time to think. Except for hourly visits from a burly guy with black eyes who gave Frank injections of some dark liquid, he had been left alone.

He'd tried to engage the Demon who entered his cell in conversation, asking where he was, what was going on. But, nothing. The Demon had his orders and after hearing about the fate of the guy who'd been in Sioux Falls, he wasn't about to blow it by saying a word.

Frank had no idea what was going on. His last memory was of lying in the cage in the Demon safe house, seeing Gail burst in with those guys, and her trying to Heal him as he'd let go. He had died, hadn't he? Was this Hell?

He'd woken up a while back, who knew how long ago, and seen a red-haired woman leaning over him with a smile on her face. But before he'd had a chance to orient himself, Frank had been seized and dragged here and chained to the wall. He'd been hungry and thirsty, but his calls for sustenance had been ignored. Then there was the guy who had been giving him those injections. He had finally been brought some food and water, but Frank no longer felt hunger or thirst. Due to the accelerated schedule of injections of Demon blood, Frank was already starting to cross over.

When Crowley entered the dungeon and regarded Frank, Gail's brother's blood boiled. Crowley! Frank remembered the little bastard questioning him in the Demon safe house, then having him brutally beaten and hung up by his ankles.

"Where am I? What's going on?" he demanded.

Crowley was calm; Frank's attitude was to be expected.

"I brought you back from the dead," Crowley informed hiim. "My team could use a man with your skills. And your sister will be joining us shortly as well."

Frank raged at Crowley then, struggling once more against his chains, cursing and screaming.

OK, so he wasn't ready yet. It had only been a few days. "I'll come back when you're more...amenable to a discussion," Crowley said to Frank, reasonably enough. He turned and left the dungeon.

CASTIEL, 1.7

Sam had finally arrived. After putting down his bags and greeting everyone, Sam asked if he and Dean could have a moment to talk alone.

Before Cas could object, Dean sighed and said, "That would be pointless. These two know everything we're saying anyway."

Sam looked at Cas and Gail, startled.

"Hello," Gail said, waggling her fingers. "Celestial beings."

Sam gave a half-laugh. Right.

"What's going on, Sam?" Cas asked. "What are you keeping from us?"

"You have to promise us you're not going to go bananas," Sam said by way of a response.

Cas looked puzzled. Dean chimed in, "Sammy, that's not specific enough for him." He walked up to Cas and looked him directly in the eye.

"Before we tell you, you're going to promise that you'll stay with us. Not pop out. We'll tell you everything but you have to promise us first. Angel's honour. You too," he added, looking at Gail.

She and Cas exchanged glances. "OK, promise," Gail said.

"Angel's honour," Cas said, a twinkle in his eye despite his concern over the situation. Dean had quite a unique way of putting things.

"Yeah, well, I know that phrase doesn't mean much," Dean grumbled, "But from you two, I'll take it."

"You'd better sit down," Sam warned. Gail sat down on the bed and after a moment, Cas followed suit.

"I know where Metatron is," Sam said.

Castiel leaped to his feet. "Where?" he asked eagerly.

"In Texas," Sam replied.

"Where the serial killings are taking place?" Gail interjected.

Castiel had been about to break his promise, but he was so shocked by what Gail had said he remained, wheeling around to look at her.

"What?" he said. "How did you know about that?" Sam asked at the same time.

She explained to the men how she'd been surfing on the computer to pass the time and had come upon the news item. When she'd heard Texas, she'd just blurted it out. Now she regretted not having said anything about it at the time. She realized by the way Sam and Dean were looking at her that it was highly significant.

Castiel sank back down on the bed. His worst fears were being confirmed.

Sam brought up the composite sketch on the laptop and turned it around to show them the image.

"Metatron," Dean and Cas said together. Gail's jaw dropped open. The Scribe of God, a serial killer. She'd heard he was bad, but this? This was unbelievable.

"There's more," Sam went on. "He left a note with each corpse, one word pinned to each of the bodies. It's an anagrammed sentence."

He rose and handed the piece of paper to Cas, who read it aloud: "The latest murder victims cry out to the First for justice." He looked up at Sam. "What does it mean?"

"He's calling you out, Cas," Dean said. "You were the first murder victim."

Castiel thought for a minute. Of course. Metatron always did like his little word games.

Gail got there, too. "Abel. The First," she said softly.

Castiel jumped to his feet again. "I must go. I have to stop him."

Dean put a hand on his arm, squeezing perhaps harder than was necessary. "You're not going anywhere. We go together."

Cas looked at him. "This isn't your fight, and it's not your responsibility," he told Dean.

"You're wrong," Dean shot back. "He's butchering humans. Damn straight it's our fight."

"He wants you to go there alone," Sam added. "He's trying to trap you."

Castiel was frustrated, frantic. How could he make them understand? It was his fault that Metatron was free. He had failed to prevent his escape, and when they'd come to Earth, he had failed again with his inability to apprehend Metatron. No one had ever gotten a jump on Castiel like that before, and he still wondered how that could have been possible with both he and Chuck there. At the very least, Chuck's presence should have served as a distraction and enabled Castiel to subdue Metatron. It was puzzling.

"It doesn't matter," Cas insisted in response to Sam's statement. "I am responsible and I must be the one who brings him back to Heaven."

"No," Gail said suddenly, and Sam and Dean looked at her. She stood and faced Castiel, grabbing him and turning him around, forcing him to look at her.

"Look, I'm tired of all your crap," she snapped. "so there are things you don't want to tell me-" Cas opened his mouth to speak, but Gail cut him off "-and you can just save it, because I know there are. Fine. Whatever. But you're not going to walk in there alone. You're going to let your friends help you. And once Metatron's safely back in prison, you and I are going to have a talk."

Castiel looked at her closely and she stared right back at him. She knew he felt guilty about Metatron and that was understandable, but he couldn't continue to take everything on his shoulders. Otherwise, what were they even doing here? She wasn't going to let him commit suicide by walking in to face Metatron alone.

Cas opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He thought about what his friends had said. Considered both sides. Maybe he could use some help. But they had no idea of the extent of Metatron's powers. Sam and Dean were humans. They were the best at what they did, but Metatron was the worst kind of monster they would ever face. And Gail...yes, she was an Angel now, but a new one who'd had no experience in a real battle, let alone with anyone as dangerous as Metatron.

Gail was angry with him, and rightly so. He had lied to her, if not in actual fact, then by omission. He had excluded her, making his forays into Heaven alone. His intention had been to protect her, but in doing so, he had minimalized her. She was even now standing up for him, though he didn't deserve it.

And the Winchesters were his brothers. They were offering to stand with him as well, to help him defeat the enemy. Metatron was an affront to Angels and humans alike. Who was Castiel to think that he was the only one who had the right to take down Metatron?

So he looked at his friends and said, "We'll leave first thing in the morning."

AURIELLE, 1.6

Aurielle stood in front of Metatron in her true form, having just arrived from Heaven. He waved his hand casually and she was back in the same vessel she'd occupied in Heaven.

Chuck had advised Metatron that he was sending her down to him, so he had been prepared for her arrival, but Metatron was a little surprised by her bearing, her attitude. When he'd seen Aurielle at the prison, she'd been a timid, mousy-looking girl, which was part of the reason he'd balked when Chuck had told him of the plan. But THIS Aurielle...Metatron had to hand it to Chuck. Maybe he wouldn't kill him after all, but put Chuck in charge of an Angel makeover program.

Aurielle stared at Metatron, head held high. "Good to see you again," she said, then smiled, "and nice not to have a blade to my throat."

Once again, Metatron was impressed. This was someone he could work with.

He told her about sending an anagrammed message to Castiel via the notes left with the murder victims. He was fairly confident that his message would be a beacon to Castiel and that he would be there soon.

But Aurielle didn't think that was direct enough, and she told him so. Metatron hadn't told her what the message said, of course, just that it was coded. He knew she would assume that the murder victims were members of the terrorist group and that he'd sent the message in code so as to be discreet. But Aurielle took him aback when she'd said, "Soon? How soon?"

He looked at her sharply. He'd wanted a warrior, but he would not tolerate being questioned or second-guessed. "Soon," he said shortly.

Aurielle saw the look on his face and realized she'd overstepped in her eagerness to see Castiel. And to accomplish her mission, of course. Metatron was a very powerful Angel and he was Castiel's friend. She did not want to get off on the wrong foot.

"I'm sorry, my Brother," she said softly, humbly. "I'm just eager to serve."

Metatron could just bet she was. He knew her story and why she was really here. Too bad the poor girl would have to die.

FRANK, 1.2

A couple more days had passed since Crowley had come to see Frank in the dungeon for the first time, and Frank knew now that he was in serious trouble.

He couldn't believe it when Crowley had told him he'd brought him back from the dead. What kind of game was the little bastard trying to play? Back from the dead, his ass. There was no such thing. Frank was obviously in Hell. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve such a fate. Sure, he'd been a Hunter who had killed many times over, but he only killed monsters, creatures who threatened the lives of humans. Wasn't that a good thing? He had been no choirboy or churchgoer in life, but still...

When Crowley had said that Gail would be joining them shortly, Frank's suspicions were confirmed. He had died and gone to Hell, and his punishment was being Crowley's prisoner. The Demon who had orchestrated the death of Frank's parents, and his own, was telling him that his sister Gail would soon be dead and coming to Hell as well. Who knew if that was even true? Maybe that was his torment.

He wasn't sure how the hourly injections fit in. No one liked needles, it was true, but that had never been a particular phobia of Frank's. But he'd never died and gone to Hell before, so who knew how they ran things around here? Maybe Crowley had gotten some bad intel.

But the final thing that had convinced Frank that he was indeed dead was the fact that he didn't need to eat, drink, sleep, or go to the bathroom any more. He could not possibly have survived this long without doing any of these things if he'd been alive.

And the longer Frank remained here, chained to the wall and stewing in his own juices, the angrier he became. So this was how he was supposed to spend all of eternity What had he ever done that was so bad, so terrible that his soul had been condemned to Hell? If there were even such things as souls, something he'd never really believed when he'd been alive. He'd seen plenty of horrendous things people had done to each other in the name of religion and it had never been for him. Was that the problem?

So he'd started to pray, to God or anyone else who might be listening. This is Frank. Help me out here, he thought. Please. I can't spend eternity in Hell, I don't think I can take it. And even if you don't want to help me out, please watch over my sister Gail. Keep her safe from Crowley. She doesn't deserve to be here in Hell. Thanks. Amen.

CASTIEL, 1.8

Castiel was sitting in the back of the Impala staring out the window, deep in thought, when he heard Frank's prayer. Even though it hadn't been directed at him personally, the voice was so strong, so desperate, that it broke through.

He bolted upright when he heard the names "Frank", "Crowley", and "Gail". He listened again as the prayer was repeated. Gail's brother Frank was in Hell?

At the same time, Gail put a hand to her head. She had felt something there, but she wasn't sure what it was. Surely Angels didn't get headaches? No, it felt more like the static you heard on the radio in the old days when you couldn't quite find the station. She listened intently, and then Gail swore she heard her own name inside her head. OK, that had her attention. This had to be some kind of Angel thing. She was just turning in her seat to ask Castiel about it when she heard one other word: "Frank".

Gail did turn to Castiel then, grabbing his arm. She could see by the look on his face that he was hearing something too.

"What IS that?" she asked him. "I heard my name, then I heard Frank's name!"

Sam half-turned from his seat in the front. "What did you say, Gail?"

She ignored him. "Cas, what did I hear?"

He took her hands in his. "I heard it, too," he said sadly. "That was a prayer."

Dean was watching the road, but he kept an ear on their conversation. So they were hearing prayers in the back seat of his car now. Well, it wouldn't be the first time God's name had been called from there, he thought, smirking.

Meanwhile, Castiel was trying to figure out how to tell Gail exactly what he'd heard. In a rare moment of reticence, he'd been reluctant to state the contents of the prayer exactly as he'd heard it, knowing that it would devastate her.

But his silence was making her crazy. "A prayer?" she repeated. "From who?"

He sighed, knowing he had no choice. "From your brother, Frank."

After all the shocks she'd had lately, Gail thought there couldn't possibly be any more coming. She had been wrong. But she was in for one more.

Castiel forced the words out: "He was praying from Hell."

Dean nearly drove into the ditch. "What?" he exclaimed. "Cas!"

Sam was outraged, too. Why would he say such a thing? What was wrong with him?

Dean pulled over to the side of the road and shut the Impala's engine off. He turned around in his seat.

"What the hell, Cas? Is this some kind of joke?" He was angry. Hell was a sore spot for him. Dean had been there himself, and had suffered immeasurably for 4 months until God had sent Castiel to rescue him.

"No, it's not a joke," Cas retorted. It had hurt him to say this to Gail, and he did not appreciate Dean's attitude. He knew how Dean felt about the subject, but this was not about Dean. It was about Gail and her brother.

Gail was speechless. Her brother Frank was in Hell? How could that be? He was a good man! And he had been gone for a while; why was the message just coming through now? He had not been a religious man in life, but if he was desperate enough to pray, he must be really suffering. She'd thought Frank's death hurt; this was almost unbearable.

She clutched at Castiel. "What, exactly, did he say?"

So Castiel repeated what he had heard Frank pray. Gail's eyes stung with tears. How could her brother be in Hell while she was an Angel? Where was the justice in that?

"You gotta go get him, Cas," Dean said.

Castiel almost laughed at his friend's naivete. "I can't do that, Dean."

"Why not?" Sam asked.

"You got ME," Dean insisted. "Look, I don't know the guy, but there's no way he should be in Hell, Cas."

Castiel said sternly, "That's not our place to say. That is God's decision, and only He can change it."

The brothers sat there, stunned.

Gail's mind was racing. There had to be something she could do. "Can we request an audience with Him?" she asked Castiel.

"No," Castiel answered shortly. "Our mission is to find Metatron and stop him."

Dean was conflicted. He agreed that it was vital to get to Dallas and stop Metatron's killing spree, but a big part of him also wanted to pull Cas out of this car right now and punch him right in his stupid Angel face.

Gail was hurt by what Castiel had said, and the way he'd said it. As if Frank's prayer, if that's what it was, meant nothing. Was he that heartless? For the first time, she began to regret having chosen to become an Angel, if this was what it was going to be like. But for now, she was stuck. Maybe after they'd dealt with Metatron, she could ask again.

"Fine," she said coldly, pulling away from Castiel. "You heard the man, Dean. Let's go."

After a moment, Dean started the engine and pulled back out onto the road. They drove for miles in silence until the quiet got on Dean's nerves and he snapped on the radio.

Castiel felt like a monster. It was true that the priority was to take down Metatron and return him to Heaven's prison. Or they could just kill him and plead self-defense; the way Castiel was feeling right now, that would be the preferable and more satisfying option. But he had lied to Gail once again. He could have requested an audience with God; he'd done it once before, when his friends had died. There was no guarantee that he would be successful, but he could have at least tried. After this mission was over, he would go to God on his hands and knees and beg Him to release Frank from Hell. And he would bring Gail with him, if she'd come. Then, no matter what God decided, Castiel would tell Gail everything he had been keeping from her. He owed her the truth. He just hoped she could find it in her heart to forgive him.

FRANK, 1.3

Frank was done with praying. He was done with everything.

After who knows how many hours, days even, of praying into the void, Frank had stopped. Who was he kidding? No one was listening.

Then he started to get angry. Then he gave up.

By the time Crowley came for his next visit, Frank didn't really give a damn, about anything. Why waste energy rattling his chains and cursing? He was Crowley's bitch now. Obviously no one cared; why should he?

Crowley looked at Frank intently, saw the expression on his face and his body language.

"Fancy a chat?" he asked Frank breezily.

Frank looked him in the eye then, and Crowley saw what he'd been waiting to see: Frank's eyes were black.

"What do you want to talk about?" Frank replied.

"A job offer," Crowley answered. Frank said nothing.

Crowley motioned to the guards. They entered Frank's cell and released him from his shackles.

Much like he'd done with Gail, Crowley paused, waiting to see what Frank would do once he was free of his bonds. But he did nothing, just stood there staring at Crowley.

"Come have a drink and we'll talk," Crowley said.

"I'm not thirsty," Frank responded. Was he still defiant? His tone was dull and he hadn't made a move to fight the guards, but Frank had been a Hunter in life; Crowley would do well not to take any chances.

"A talk, then," Crowley stated. "Bring him to me in 10 minutes," he instructed the guards, then turned and left the dungeon.

The delay was by design. Unsure whether Frank would be amenable to his proposal, Crowley wanted to see what would happen if he left Frank alone, unchained, with Demons. Would he fight? Try to escape? If he did try, Crowley wasn't worried. Frank wasn't going anywhere. But he needed to find out. If Frank was brought before him in 10 minutes and his guards were unscathed, the first step of the program would be complete.

GAIL, 1.4

They reached Oklahoma City at five minutes to midnight, and Dean yawned so widely his jaw cracked. He and Sam had been sharing the driving, but they were both exhausted.

"We've gotta find a motel," Dean said. "I need a few hours."

Sam had been dozing beside Dean, but he mumbled, "What time is it?"

"Midnight. We're in Oklahoma City," Dean responded.

Sam pulled out his cell phone and checked the GPS. "Just over three hours to Dallas," he remarked.

"Perfect. We'll grab some sleep and be there early in the morning." Dean yawned again.

"I can drive," Cas offered tentatively, but Dean cut him off. "We're humans, Cas. We need to sleep now and then."

Dean pulled into the first motel he saw, and he and Castiel went into the office to check in.

"How are you doing, Gail?" Sam turned around in his seat to look at her. She hadn't said a word since the discussion about Frank.

"Okay," she said glumly.

Sam didn't know what to say. He'd been crazy when Dean went to Hell, and nothing anyone could have said to him at the time would have helped.

"Look," he tried, "after this is over, we'll talk to Cas-"

"No, I'LL be talking to Cas," she retorted. "You may not want to be in the room at the time."

Yikes. She was really mad. But Sam couldn't blame her. "We'll find a way, Gail. We always do." He tried a smile on for size.

She did not smile back, but said, "Thanks for caring, Sam."

They got settled in their rooms. Dean and Sam lay down to sleep right away, eager to get to Dallas in the morning and get this over with.

But Angels did not sleep, and Gail did not trust herself to be in the same room as Castiel when she was so angry with him. So as soon as she had thrown her bag in their room, she went back outside.

There was a small park area across from the motel, and she went there now, sitting on a bench and staring off into space. Thinking about Frank. I'll try to help you, Frank, she thought. I swear I'll try my best.

She also thought about getting to Dallas in the morning and what would happen there. They had to assume they would find Metatron very easily; he was obviously lying in wait for Castiel. As mad as she was at Castiel, Gail was ready to protect him with her life if necessary. And the Winchesters, as well. She knew enough about Angels now to know that she could be killed with an Angel blade, and who knew what other powers Metatron could unleash? Dean and Sam were excellent fighters but they were human. Still, maybe the four of them together would stand a chance against Metatron.

Lost in thought, Gail didn't hear him come up behind her. Dean put his hand on Gail's shoulder and she leaped to her feet, turned, and brandished her Angel blade all in one motion.

"You learn well, young Grasshopper," he quipped.

"Dean, you scared the crap out of me!" Gail breathed, sheathing the blade.

"Sorry." He smiled. "Great reaction time, though." He came around to sit beside her on the bench.

"I thought you'd be sleeping," Gail said to him.

Dean frowned. "I am beat," he said, "but I laid down and..." he trailed off. Truth was, he'd been too angry to relax. He was still stewing about their conversation in the car, and about Gail's brother being in Hell.

Gail sighed. "I miss sleeping. It's a great way to forget about everything for a while."

If only Dean could forget. He didn't waste time dwelling on it, but he would never be able to forget his time in Hell, and this had opened old wounds.

Dean looked at Gail. He'd seen her out here and had come out to talk to her, but now he couldn't think what to say.

She beat him to it. "Dean, what did you mean when you said what you said to Cas? 'You got ME.' What were you talking about?"

That's right, he thought, she wouldn't know. And obviously, Cas hadn't told her. It didn't seem like Cas had told Gail much of anything. What did they talk about all those hours when they weren't sleeping?

So Dean told her the story. How Sam had died, and Dean had made a deal with a Crossroads Demon to bring him back. After the year was up, the Hellhounds had come and Dean had been dragged into Hell. He'd spent four months there. Then Cas had pulled him out.

"Castiel pulled you out of Hell," Gail mused.

Dean knew what she was thinking: If he could do it for Dean, why couldn't he do it for Frank?

Dean sighed. "Look, Gail, I know Cas is being a dick right now, and I'm gonna put punching him on my To Do list when this is over," he said, prompting her to smile. He continued, "But after he pulled me out, he told me God had sent him to do it. It's not like he did it on his own."

"Fine, but I still don't understand why we can't go ask God to do the same for Frank. He doesn't belong there either," Gail said stubbornly. "I've been to God's office, I'm sure He must take appointments."

Dean shrugged. He knew nothing about that. "I don't know," he said. "You've got to talk to Cas about that."

"And what exactly would be the point?" she raised her voice, unable to help herself. "You heard him. He said no."

"He said no for now," Dean replied. "He IS right, we have to take down Metatron ASAP. Before he kills more people."

"I realize that," Gail sighed. "That's why I'm keeping my mouth shut for now." She paused. "I didn't think this would be so hard."

Dean looked at her inquiringly. "What?"

"Being an Angel," she said simply. Then: "I guess this is one of my lessons. Picking the greater good over your own needs. Or some crap like that."

Dean laughed. He was glad he'd come out here; now he felt like he could sleep.

"Bring it in," he said to Gail, extending his arms. They shared a hug.

"Thanks, Dean," Gail said to him, then pointed to the motel, "Now, go. Get some sleep."

Dean gave her a salute, and then walked back to his and Sam's room. He saw the curtains move in the window of the room next door. Cas had been watching them. He'd probably heard every word they'd said. Oh, well. Dean was tired and he didn't give a damn.

Cas pointed out the window towards Gail, and Dean shook his head wearily. Cas's face fell. Too bad. Let him stew. Dean was going to sleep like a baby.

Gail sat on the bench for quite a while afterwards, thinking about her conversation with Dean. So, he'd actually been to Hell. But he was here now, and he was a good guy. She had meant to ask him what Hell was like, but had stopped herself. There was something in his voice when Dean had told her his story, something that told her not to go there. And she'd realized she didn't really want to know.

DEAN, 1.5

Dean did go to sleep, but predictably enough, it was not a restful sleep.

He dreamed he was back in Hell, being tortured. He cried out for help. "Sam! Sammy! Help me!" No response. Only more torture.

When he couldn't take it any more, the offer was made: If Dean was willing to torture others, he could come off the rack. Go screw yourself, he'd said, and back on the rack he went. More time passed, who knew how long. In Hell, one day felt like 10 years. Then the offer was made again, and again Dean refused. On and on it went, then one day, Dean had said yes. And he would regret that day for eternity.

And then suddenly, miraculously, Dean was back on Earth and back with Sam, with no idea how he'd been delivered from eternal damnation, or why. He had his old life back, though he didn't deserve it. Then Cas had shown up and informed Dean that Angels had stormed into Hell on a rescue operation, and Castiel himself had raised Dean out of Hell and returned him to Earth, and to his brother.

Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. Angels? Sent to rescue HIM? Why?

He'd since learned way more about Angels than he even wanted to know, and the same went for Heaven. He knew he needed to be grateful that he'd been singled out for rescue from Hell; and recently, he and Sam had died and once again been brought back to life, courtesy of Heaven. Well, courtesy of God, really.

But as far as he was concerned, if Frank was left to rot in Hell, they could all just shove it. He was done.

Dean rolled over and began to dream again. This dream was one of the strangest he'd ever had, and that was saying something.

He dreamt about walking into a big office. "God?" he'd said in the dream.

There was a man sitting in a tall swivel chair behind a desk. "Sit down, my Son," he said. God's voice was familiar. No way. It couldn't be.

God turned around in his chair to face Dean, and he had Bobby's face. "So, we can all just shove it?" he asked Dean, his beard twitching with amusement.

"You're God?" Dean asked, astonished.

"Yes, and now I will smite you within an inch of your life," Bobby replied grimly. Then he laughed. "Sorry, I just had to do that. How are you, Dean?"

Dean could only repeat, "You're God?"

"No, I'm not God, you ijit," Bobby retorted. "But if you recall, I'm an Angel too. You want to tell me something?"

Dean was aware he was dreaming, but he was just so damn happy to see Bobby again. He needed some fatherly advice.

Dream Dean started to tell Dream Bobby about the situation with Frank, but Bobby cut him off.

"Never mind, I know all that. God sent me to you in a dream because He heard Cas's prayers and He wants you to know something."

"Cas?" Dean asked, confused.

"God, you dummy," Bobby said impatiently. "He wanted me to tell you that Frank's not in Hell. He's with Crowley, but he's alive."

"No, he's not," Dean argued. "We saw him die. We buried him behind the bunker."

"Yeah, you did," Bobby said, leaning forward, "but did you burn his bones?"

Dean woke up in a sweat.

Castiel had been praying to his Father, ever since they'd arrived at the motel and Gail had thrown her bag on the bed nearest the door and left.

I'm continuing the mission, Cas prayed, but I need Your help. I beg You to release Frank from Hell. I'll do anything You ask. Please.

He prayed for hours. God heard him, and sent Bobby to Dean in the dream, to reassure them that Frank had not been cast down. God also knew that Frank had now become a Demon, but He concealed this fact from them for now. He had taken pity on Castiel and Gail, but the priority was Metatron at the moment. Their mission was paramount, and they could not be distracted from it. When you were the boss, you had to make the hard decisions. Frank was beyond saving, but Metatron had to be dealt with. Those were the facts.

Dean had fallen back into a dreamless sleep, and in the morning he told Sam about what Bobby had told him in the dream.

"Do you think it's true?" Sam said.

"I thought it was just a crazy dream at first," Dean said thoughtfully. "But Bobby said Frank is with Crowley, and we know that Crowley's alive, so...it could be true."

"We've got to tell Gail," Sam said anxiously.

Dean agreed. "Yeah. And Cas." He paused. "We were kind of hard on him last night, both me and Gail. But Bobby said God sent him to me in the dream because God had heard Cas's prayers."

The brothers considered this. If Cas had been praying to God directly on Frank's behalf, maybe he wasn't as much of a dick as they thought. And maybe Gail should know about that, too.

Dean grabbed his jacket. "Let's go get Cas out of the doghouse."

Gail was surprised by Dean's story, but she was prepared to believe it. It was only logical; if Crowley was somehow alive, and Frank was with him, couldn't Frank be somehow alive as well?

Until she received proof to the contrary, she was going with that. It was weird, but it sure beat the alternative, Hell. She didn't like to think about Frank being held captive by Crowley, but she knew her brother and figured he would be OK for the time being. After they had dealt with Metatron, they'd go find Crowley's den and kick some Demon ass.

Gail hugged Dean. "Thank you for telling me," she said to him.

Then Gail turned to Castiel, who had been sitting quietly as Dean told them about his dream. Thank You, Father, Castiel thought. That'll hold us for now. Thank You for Your mercy.

"I owe you an apology," Gail said to Cas. She sat down beside him and took his hand.

"No, you don't," he said softly. "I understand how you feel." He swallowed, then continued, "After we take care of Metatron, I promise you we will find Frank and we will liberate him."

That was all Gail needed to hear. But there was more.

Castiel smiled grimly. "And once we've done that, I'll tell you everything. All about me, and what I've done." He glanced at Dean for support, and Dean nodded, so Cas finished, "And if you're still speaking to me after you hear it all-" he gave Gail's hand a brief squeeze - "I will never keep you in the dark again."

They left the motel then and headed towards Dallas, where Metatron and Aurielle were waiting for them.

GARTH, 1.4

Garth was sleeping, and Bobby came to him in a dream. Unlike Dean's dream, Bobby looked the way he had in life, the way Garth remembered him best. Garth sat down at the kitchen table in Bobby's old house and Bobby poured them both a drink.

"How've you been, Garth?" Bobby asked him.

"Oh, you know, married life, trying to make a living..."

Bobby raised his eyebrows.

"OK, OK." Garth couldn't lie to Bobby. "Howling, always hungry, trying to keep my nose clean."

It felt good to be honest with a friend. Garth missed Bobby almost as much as the Winchesters did. He'd been a father figure to them all, the glue that held the Hunters together. It really sucked that he was dead.

Garth looked Bobby in the eye and saw pity there, but something else, too.

"I've been thinking about Sam and Dean a lot lately," Garth confessed to Bobby. "How are they doing?"

"That's why I'm here," Bobby said, taking a drink. He leaned back in his chair. "They're about to walk into something they won't walk out of. God has shown me that Sam and Dean are going to be killed in Dallas by the Angel Metatron."

What? Garth was out of the loop, so he didn't know who Metatron was. Sounded like a Transformer, or something. But he knew that Angels could be deadly, and he was alarmed by what Bobby said. That must be why he had been thinking so much about the brothers lately. He'd been having premonitions that they were in danger.

"But you can help them," Bobby continued.

"How?" Garth said eagerly, straightening up in his chair.

So Bobby told him about the sacrifice that God wanted of Garth, that would have to be made in order to save the Winchesters. Garth was initially shocked. Was he really required to do this? He'd tried to be a good guy all his life. Sure, he was a monster now, but that wasn't really his fault.

"Do I have to do this?" he asked Bobby.

"No, of course you don't have to do it," Bobby replied. "But if you don't, Sam and Dean will die. And after everything they've done, they may not exactly be welcome-" he pointed skyward - "up there."

Great. Garth thought about what Bobby had said and what was being asked of him some more. God was asking Garth to go out a hero, and though Garth had not yet harmed anyone during his transformations, he'd been feeling like it was only a matter of time. There was Bess to think about, but she had her family for support. And truthfully, he didn't think his in-laws liked him that much anyway. Bess was young. She could mourn him for a while and then move on.

So Garth agreed to sacrifice himself to save the Winchester brothers. He and Bobby had a drink on it. And then he woke up.

With one last look at Bess, sleeping beside him, Garth dressed quietly and went into the kitchen to leave her a note. Explaining what he had to do, and why he had to do it.

Then he headed to the Crossroads.

Bess woke up a short while afterwards. She reached for Garth, but he was not in bed beside her. He must have gone for a snack, she reasoned. He's been doing that a lot lately. He was always hungry.

She went to the kitchen and found the note Garth had left her. No! He couldn't do this! She wouldn't let him. She knew how he felt about the Winchesters, they were like brothers to him, but this was too much. Garth was her husband and she wasn't going to lose him.

Bess threw on some clothes and left the house, heading for the Crossroads. Praying she'd make it in time.

CROWLEY, 1.5

Crowley sat across from Frank, making his sales pitch.

Frank had arrived on schedule, accompanied by the Demon guards but walking under his own power. None of the three had a scratch on them, confirming that Frank had not put up a fight in the dungeon.

Gail's brother took the chair across from Crowley, who dismissed the guards.

When he and Frank were alone, Crowley poured a drink from the ever-present bottle of scotch by his throne and extended it to Frank.

"I told you, I don't drink...now," Frank said calmly.

"Come on, mate. Live a little," Crowley encouraged. "Just because we don't need to drink doesn't mean that we can't." He waved the glass.

Frank stood up and took the glass from his hand. Crowley tensed a moment, but Frank returned to his chair.

He stared at Crowley. "What do you mean, 'we'?"

"You're going to have to update your Facebook status," Crowley said, smiling. "You're a Demon now."

Goddammit, Frank thought. But it all fit. The not eating or sleeping, being here with Crowley, the hate and anger he'd been feeling towards God and the Angels when they'd turned their backs on him. So, what now?

"Drink up," Crowley said, raising his glass and taking a deep swallow. After a moment, Frank did the same.

Crowley was a fascinating case study. He was a unique hybrid of the original Crowley and Fergus MacLeod now. His mother had reanimated the bones of Fergus and imbued them with the memories and methods of the original King of Hell. The one who'd been evil to the core, unencumbered by the feelings and sentiments that the Winchesters and Castiel had forced upon him. But there was a lot of Fergus in there, too. Fergus had been human and fallible, a craven coward who'd only cared about himself and his own pleasures. He'd been fond of his drink. Crowley now kept a bottle beside him at all times and though he now sipped it out of a crystal glass in a civilized manner, he had slid back into Fergus's habit without even realizing it. He was flawed, as a result of Rowena's having forgotten the last couple of words of the reanimation spell. The change was subtle enough that so far no one had realized, not even Crowley himself.

"You'll find I'm a very reasonable employer," Crowley said to Frank. "You're angry, and I understand. Really, I do." He looked at Frank in mock sympathy. "But I'm giving you a unique opportunity to put that anger to good use. You acquired a skill set in your former life, one that I can appreciate."

"What do you want?" Frank spat out. This guy sure liked to hear himself talk. He took another drink. Crowley had been right about that, at least. They may not need to drink, but why shouldn't he? This was high grade stuff. As long as he was here, he might as well enjoy.

Crowley didn't mind Frank's angry tone. What he had in mind for Frank would require aggression, and lots of it. He just had to make sure that Frank was on board with who the enemy really was.

"I'm offering you a job," Crowley told him. "My number has been a little...thinned out lately, let's just say. So I'm hiring you as a recruitment specialist. Hell needs more souls, and you're going to get them for me."

So there it was. Hadn't Frank been expecting something like this?

"And why should I do this for you? What's in it for me?" Frank retorted.

Crowley was encouraged by this response as well. Frank was already thinking like the Demon he'd become. No whining about souls, just "what's in it for me". This was a guy he could work with.

They were about to get down to brass tacks when a voice sounded inside Crowley's head. He ignored it for a moment, annoyed to be interrupted in the middle of such an important meeting. But then he heard the name Winchester, and suddenly he was all ears.

GARTH, 1.5

After Garth buried the box at the Crossroads, he stood back and waited. She appeared a moment later, a tall, blonde, sexy-looking Demon. Too bad he was married, Garth thought. Oh, and that she was a Demon.

He took a deep breath and faced her.

"I'm here to make a deal," he announced as bravely as he could.

"No duh," she said, smiling. She approached and her smile faded as she realized what he was.

"I don't think so, Werewolf," she said. "We don't make deals with damaged souls."

"Wait," he said quickly, before she could vanish. "Hear me out. I'm offering you my soul for the lives of Sam and Dean Winchester."

The Demon's eyes widened. This was something her King needed to hear. He'd let it be known that if any of his subjects came across any names on the Red List, he was to be informed immediately. And Sam and Dean Winchester were the top names on the list, along with Castiel and Gail.

She sent the alert to Crowley, interrupting his meeting. Then she turned back to Garth, saying nothing, waiting for a response.

"Well?" Garth said, agitated.

"Give me a minute." She held her hand up, still listening. Was this guy that eager to commit suicide? "I'm waiting for a message from the Head Office."

"Be right back," Crowley said to Frank. "Urgent business. I'll only be a mo. Help yourself to another." He gestured to the bottle. Then he disappeared.

Crowley reappeared at the Crossroads. He recognized Garth right away and knew his minion had been quite right to interrupt his meeting. This was going to be interesting.

"Good job, sweetheart," he said to her and she smiled, relieved.

"Happy to be of service, my King," she responded.

"Great. Now piss off," he snapped. She disappeared.

Crowley looked at Garth. "Hi. King of Hell here. Bobby's an acquaintance of mine. We shared a moment back in the day. I'd say to give him my regards, but under the circumstances..." he spread his hands, producing a contract, "I don't think you'll be seeing him anytime soon."

"So we have a deal?" Garth said, moving forward to where Crowley stood.

"I don't usually make deals with your kind," Crowley responded, "but I'm currently short one Hellhound, and with your particular - talents - that makes it a good fit."

Garth gathered up his nerve and took the contract from Crowley. Crap. But, Hellhound, Demon, what did it matter? He knew what he was agreeing to. He'd better do this quick, before he changed his mind.

"We'll forgo the kiss," Crowley said smoothly, "Just your pawprint at the bottom, please."

Garth took the knife he always carried out of his pants pocket and was about to cut his palm for the signature when Crowley said, "Just a minute." Garth hesitated.

"In the interests of full disclosure, and because I'm an honourable businessman, I'm duty-bound to point out Clause 17, Subsection B," Crowley continued. Garth looked at him, puzzled.

"What?" he asked Crowley.

Crowley sighed. Did people never read what they were signing? No wonder Earth's economy was in the toilet.

"The clause that refers to the original indemnity principle. An eye for an eye."

Garth was lost; he was a well-intentioned young man but he didn't have the mental acuity of, say, a Sam Winchester. "What are you trying to say?"

"An eye for an eye," Crowley repeated. This onee wasn't the sharpest doggy in the pound, was he? "A soul for a soul. I take your soul and you get a Winchester soul. Only one. Your choice which."

Garth couldn't believe it. Only one? How could he possibly choose one over the other?

As he stood there debating this dilemma, a voice called out his name from behind.

"Garth!" Bess cried out. "No!"

She had run all the way here, and now Bess doubled over, catching her breath. Thank God she'd gotten here in time.

"Don't do it, Garth," she pleaded, gasping for air, as Garth turned to face her.

Interesting, Crowley thought. He instantly recognized Bess as a Werewolf.

"Your wife?" he asked Garth.

Garth nodded. There wasn't much point in trying to lie. He was pretty sure the King of Hell had ways of finding these things out.

Crowley snapped his fingers and the contract disappeared.

"She's come all this way to talk to you, my boy," Crowley said softly. "Go to her. I'll be right here waiting when you're finished."

Garth looked at him strangely. The King of Hell, showing a moment of compassion? But he went to Bess and put his arms around her.

Crowley felt no compassion, none at all. But he was calculating. Two Werewolves equalled about 10 Hellhounds in ferocity and power. He'd been toying with the boy for his own amusement, curious to see if he would actually pick one Winchester over the other. And if he did, which one it would be. Crowley himself would have picked Dean in a heartbeat. Dean had tortured souls in Hell, had briefly even been a Demon himself, and violence and self-loathing were a large part of his makeup. Oh, Crowley would love to have Dean on his staff. But for now, he would allow Garth's sacrifice. Crowley would even give him both brothers. What did it matter? They would survive the bloodbath in Dallas, but their lives would only be prolonged a short time. And why was it always Dallas? Oh, well, that was a question for another day...

But now that he had the promise of acquiring two Hellhounds, Crowley would rewrite the contract and wait.

"Please, Garth," Bess cried, "please don't do this. I need you."

Garth broke the embrace and looked down at her. "I'm sorry, Bess, but I have to. Dean and Sam are like family to me-"

"But I'm your family, too!" Bess insisted. "I'm your wife!"

She was not wrong, and it hurt him to have to make the choice, but there was a lot more to it than that.

"I know, sweetie," he said to her, kissing her on the forehead. "But I have some things to make right. They trusted me and I let them down, big time. Now I have the chance to step up and do the right thing."

Bess opened her mouth to protest again, but Garth went on, "And let's face it. You know me better than anyone. You know I'm about one or two more cycles away from giving in. And when I do that, my soul is damned anyway. This way, I'm getting some value for it."

She stopped then, realizing he was speaking the truth. And with him gone, she would probably succumb, too. They had been each other's strength. At least this way they could be together.

Bess took a deep breath. "Okay. We renegotiate."

Crowley had the new contract ready when they returned to him.

"Two souls for two souls," Bess said to him. "Straight up."

Garth looked at his wife. He had never loved her more. When he made the cut across her palm, he did it as gently as he could.

When the contract was signed with their blood, Garth and Bess kissed.

"How touching," Crowley said sarcastically. "You have a deal. Both brothers will be saved. A pleasure doing business." Then he vanished.

Garth turned back to Bess. "We'd better go see your family in the morning," he said to her. "To say goodbye."

Her eyes shone with tears as she nodded. She loved him so much.

AURIELLE, 1.7

Aurielle and Metatron stood in the vacant office he had just leased. How convenient that a large empty space just across from the downtown Dallas police station should be available. He'd had to pay a pretty penny and sign a year's lease, but no matter. They'd be gone tomorrow, with no trace that they'd ever been there. Metatron had made sure to modify the realtor's memory before she'd left.

She looked out the window as Metatron sat down in a folding chair that had been left in the corner of the room. He took a paperback book out of his pocket and started to read. They had a couple of hours to kill. So to speak.

Aurielle was edgy, but also excited. This was it; she was going to see Castiel again, and soon. He and Metatron would be reunited to continue their mission, and she would save Castiel from Gail.

Metatron had explained to her that they were waiting here to watch the police station. He had received word from Chuck on the covert Angel Radio frequency that the Winchester brothers were here to investigate the murders that had taken place, and they were bringing Castiel and Gail with them. Aurielle had been startled. The Winchesters? They were famous in Heaven; notorious, even. They were the Hunters, the renegade brothers who had often worked at cross-purposes with Heaven, following their own agenda. In her opinion, Castiel spent way too much time with the Winchesters, who had tried to corrupt him, mould him into a human, another version of themselves. He was too good, too pure to be used in this way. Aurielle vowed that once she and Castiel were together, she would use her influence on him to pull him away from the Winchesters and their ways.

If Metatron knew what Aurielle was thinking, he could have told her not to worry; the Winchesters would be dead by this afternoon. Then again, so would her boyfriend, along with Gail and Aurielle herself. It was, as they said, a moot point.

CHUCK, 1.5

Chuck sat at his desk after sending the message to Metatron. He wanted to pack up and leave the office and he would in just a minute, after his knees stopped shaking. Half an hour ago, he had been called into God's office. This was a rare occurrence for anyone, but especially for Chuck, who didn't exactly move in Heaven's exalted circles. The last time he'd been called into God's office, Castiel had burned his manuscript with God's approval. What was God going to do to him now? Did he know about Chuck's association with Metatron?

God did indeed know about the plotting that Chuck and Metatron had been doing, but He had let them believe they were flying under the radar. He had His reasons; it was all part of the big picture. Metatron and Chuck would be dealt with in time. God also knew that they had involved the Angel Aurielle in their schemes, and that was a shame. He felt badly that she would have to be sacrificed, but God could not allow her to follow through on the plan to kill Gail.

Chuck entered God's office. "You wanted to see me, Father?" he said deferentially.

"Yes, Chuck. Have a seat, I just have to finish this." God made a show of writing something down on a piece of paper but the words were nonsensical. He just wanted to make Chuck sweat for a few minutes. It was not advisable to plot behind the Lord's back.

Finally, God looked up from his desk. "Chuck, I would like for you to send a message to Castiel," he said.

"Castiel?" Chuck was startled enough to say.

"Yes, I know that he is your friend," God said, relishing the look on Chuck's face. He continued, "I have another urgent matter to attend to, so I need your help. Tell Castiel that he and the Winchesters are about to walk into a trap." God couldn't resist adding, "I know how you feel about Brother Castiel and the Winchesters, and I know you're the right man for the job."

Chuck was floored. While glad that his cover was apparently intact, Chuck was jolted by the news that the Winchesters were with Castiel. Why? When Chuck and Metatron had formulated their plan, he'd never dreamed that Castiel would let Sam and Dean tag along to a confrontation with Metatron. Hero Cas was a lone wolf who took the whole world on his shoulders. Chuck had operated on this premise when they'd set the trap. He'd have to alert Metatron right away that the Winchesters were coming as well. Funny; Chuck thought Castiel loved his humans too much to put them in harm's way like that. Metatron would destroy them.

Chuck assured God that he would indeed pass along the message, and he hurried back to his own office once dismissed. He contacted Metatron immediately to warn him that the Winchesters were accompanying Castiel. Metatron responded and thanked him for the intel. Not to worry, Metatron had said; now that he had the heads up, he would be prepared to deal with Sam and Dean also. It was almost better this way; now all of them could be taken care of at once.

God had enjoyed his little "in joke" at Chuck's expense. He knew that Chuck had no intention of communicating with Castiel but would instead inform Metatron that the Winchester brothers were also coming along for the ride.

The stage was set.

CROWLEY, 1.6

Crowley returned to the throne room to continue his meeting with Frank. He had been prepared for pretty much anything, but was gratified to see that Frank had remained in his chair and had apparently refilled his drink.

Stuffing the signed contract into his suit pocket, Crowley sat on his throne and addressed Frank. "My apologies for the interruption." He seldom apologized to anyone for anything, but Crowley was in a magnanimous mood. He had just acquired two Werewolves' souls to shore up his pack of Hellhounds and it hadn't cost him a thing. Yes, the Winchesters would live on, but only for a short while. After this business with Metatron was over, Crowley would have the satisfaction of taking their souls himself once his own trap was set. He was also looking forward to seeing his brother Castiel again and plunging a dagger into his chest. Fair was fair; the last time they'd met, Castiel had done the same to him. And then Crowley would have Gail back, to use as he wished.

He poured himself another drink. Everything was falling into place.

AURIELLE, 1.8

She had been standing at the window keeping vigil for about an hour when Aurielle began to feel that Castiel was near. She turned to Metatron, but he had already sensed it.

Metatron stood up and put the book he had been reading back into his pocket. Then he raised his shirt, waved his hand, and the tattoo warding him against Angels was gone.

He walked over and stood beside Aurielle at the window. Minutes later, he saw the Winchesters' Impala coming down the street.

Metatron watched as the car parked and its occupants got out. He muttered something about a book depository that Aurielle didn't understand. But she wasn't really listening anyway; she had just seen Castiel and Gail getting out of the car, and her heart leaped.

CASTIEL, 1.9

Dean parked the car in front of the police station and got out, stretching his legs.

They had checked into yet another motel upon their arrival into Dallas proper and he, Sam and Gail had changed into their pseudo FBI suits. Then they had come right here.

But when Sam and Dean walked towards the police station, Sam nudged his brother. "Dean," he said, "hang on."

They turned around to look at Cas, who had gotten out of the back of the car but was now standing still, a strange, faraway look on his face.

"Cas," Dean said. No response. "Cas!"

Cas looked at Dean then and said, "Metatron is here."

"Here? What do you mean, here? In the police station?" Dean asked, confused.

"No," Cas replied, looking across the street at an office building. "Up there." He pointed to the 4th Floor.

Gail walked around the back of the car and joined them on the sidewalk. "So that's what that was," she remarked.

Cas looked troubled. "There are two. Metatron, and the Angel Aurielle."

"OK, so we go up there and kick some ass." Dean started across the street, but Cas caught his arm.

"He's laying in wait," Cas said sternly. "He's no longer warded. And he's got a hostage."

Metatron said to Aurielle, "Turn off your Angel Radio. Now."

She was surprised, but did so immediately. She was a team player, and they were so close now. Aurielle glared down at Gail, standing close to Castiel. She couldn't wait to see his face when Gail confessed.

Metatron was now free to transmit his message to Castiel without Aurielle's knowledge: Yes, I'm up here, Castiel, and I have lovely Aurielle as a hostage. Again. Come on up, and bring all your friends. It's time we had a little chat.

Castiel took his hand away from his head and looked at his friends. "Metatron just sent me a message. He confirmed he's holding Aurielle as a hostage."

"Aurielle?" Sam said. "Is that the same girl he used to escape from prison?"

"Yes," Cas answered shortly, but he was puzzled. What would Aurielle be doing here on Earth? How did she get here? Was Metatron going to propose a trade?

Gail was thinking along the same lines, but Dean got there first.

"You're not giving yourself up again, Cas," he said.

"I may have no choice," Cas replied soberly. He was still trying to work out the mystery of Aurielle's being here.

"You have a choice, all right," Gail retorted. "There are four of us and one of him." Cas started to speak, but she interrupted him, holding up her hand. "I know, 'his powers are considerable'," she said, imitating the way he would have said it. Castiel almost smiled. "But we just have to come up with a plan," Gail finished.

They discussed it for a minute, and the strategy they settled on was this: Castiel would enter first and confront Metatron, then Dean and Sam would flank him, and Gail would come in from behind. While Metatron was distracted, fighting the three men, Gail would liberate Aurielle and disappear with her to the motel.

Gail wasn't thrilled; she knew the men were trying to protect her from the fight and she wanted to stand with them. But Aurielle was innocent and needed to be saved, and Metatron would probably not even give Gail a second glance, figuring she was hardly a threat. So she reluctantly agreed.

She kissed Castiel on the cheek and pointed at Sam and Dean. "You take care of business, and take care of each other."

Dean replied, "Damn right."

Gail took a deep breath. "OK, let's go."

But when they entered the room, there was only Metatron, standing there by the window. No Aurielle. What was going on here?

"Come in, come in," Metatron said pleasantly. "I wish I could offer you all a seat, but as you can see, I seem to be short on furniture."

You've gotta be kidding me, Dean thought. This guy was acting like he was hosting a party. Oh, it was gonna be a party, all right...He withdrew his knife and Sam did the same.

Metatron smiled at them indulgently. "Boys, boys," he smiled. "Always with the weapons. We're just here to talk." He waved his hands and their knives flew across the room. "There. That's better."

Castiel withdrew his Angel blade and approached Metatron, pointing the tip of the blade at Metatron's throat. "The only talking you're going to be doing is back in your prison cell," Cas growled.

Dean shook his head. They were really going to have to work on Cas's trashtalk.

"I think not," Metatron said calmly. Then: "Oh, Aurielle, there you are." He was looking over Castiel's shoulder, towards the door.

The Winchesters turned to see a female holding an Angel blade to Gail's throat.

"Gail!" Sam cried out. What the hell? Was that Aurielle, the supposed hostage? Why was she holding a dagger to Gail's throat?

Castiel wheeled around, dropping the blade from Metatron's throat. "Aurielle?" he said, confused.

Aurielle was also confused, but kept a firm grip on Gail, even though Gail was struggling. Why had Castiel been holding a blade to Metatron's throat? He must have been keeping up appearances, playacting for the Winchesters' benefit. That was the only possible explanation. But she was not going to be distracted from her mission.

She nicked Gail with the blade and Gail screamed in pain. Castiel rushed forward, Metatron forgotten. Sam and Dean then advanced on Metatron, but with a slight wave of his hands, they went crashing into the wall. They scrambled to get to their feet, but he closed his hands into fists and the brothers gasped for air, bleeding from their eyes.

Castiel stood in front of Aurielle. "Why are you doing this?" he asked her. He was shocked. The last time he had seen Aurielle, she had been Metatron's victim. Had he brainwashed her somehow?

"I'm doing this for you, Castiel," Aurielle replied. She slashed Gail's arm with the blade, and again Gail screamed.

"Confess," Aurielle said to Gail. "Confess who you really are."

"What?" Gail said, gritting her teeth against the pain. "What are you talking about?"

"Stop!" Castiel shouted, as Aurielle slashed Gail again. This was killing him.

"Confess!" Aurielle said again. "Tell Castiel what you've been up to! Who you're working with!"

"You've made a mistake," Gail moaned. "I don't know who you think I am, or what you think is going on, but I don't know what you're talking about."

As Aurielle slashed Gail again, Castiel felt every cut as if it were his own body that was being tortured. But how could he get Gail away from her without getting Gail killed? His powers were useless; he couldn't take the chance.

Meanwhile, Metatron continued to use his own powers to torture Dean and Sam, and the life was fading out of them.

Aurielle was losing her patience. Gail was supposed to have confessed by now. She slashed Gail once, twice more, repeating her demands for Gail to confess who she really was and who she was working for.

Castiel edged slowly forward. He had to do something soon or Gail would be dead. "Please," he begged Aurielle, "please stop this. Please let her go. She is innocent."

"No, she's not," Aurielle insisted. "Chuck told me. She's a spy. She's working with the terrorist group that wants to assassinate you. The group that you and Metatron are here to identify and eliminate."

What? Castiel thought. What was Aurielle talking about? Had she lost her mind?

Unable to resist, drunk on his own power, Metatron looked at Aurielle and said, "About that? Sorry. We lied."

Aurielle looked at him, the blade slipping from Gail's throat a little. "What? What do you mean?" she asked Metatron.

He gave his hands one final squeeze, finishing the Winchesters, then Metatron stepped forward.

"It was all a ploy to get your boyfriend here to come to me," Metatron told Aurielle, inclining his head to Castiel. "There is no terrorist group. I just wanted to see Castiel suffer before I kill him." He looked at Castiel, smirking. "Thanks for bringing the Winchesters, by the way. Saved me some trouble." He looked over to where Sam and Dean lay dead.

Castiel looked at the brothers, horrified. Were they...? No, they couldn't be. He'd find out in a minute, but he had Gail to worry about right now.

He looked back at Aurielle and saw that she was faltering. She still held the blade, but it was no longer at Gail's throat.

"It was all a lie?" Aurielle said to Metatron, confused. "But...why?"

"Because," Metatron said simply, smiling at her.

Aurielle was devastated. She had been used. She was the worst kind of Angel now, a dupe, and Castiel would never love her. She looked into Castiel's eyes and saw hatred there, and when she dropped the blade to her side and looked at Metatron, she saw only contempt in his eyes.

Once Aurielle dropped the blade from Gail's throat, Castiel moved in, pushing her away from Gail and holding his own blade to Aurielle's throat. Gail fell to the floor, bleeding from her wounds.

And then Aurielle looked into Castiel's eyes one last time. They were blazing with anger at her, but they were still beautiful. "Do it, my Brother," she said softly. There was nothing left for her anyway. "Please forgive me."

Castiel plunged the dagger into Aurielle's chest, killing her.

Then he stood and looked down at Gail. She was grimacing in pain, but she was still alive. And he meant for her to stay that way. He glanced at Dean and Sam, who still lay motionless, and hoped they were also still alive.

Metatron began to clap slowly. "Bravo, Castiel," he said sarcastically. "The hero comes to the rescue of the fair damsel. Quite predictable. But, to be expected."

Castiel approached him, brandishing the blade.

"Oh, come now," Metatron said, facing Castiel. "Do you really think you're going to kill me? ME?"

"Maybe not, but I might," Gail said. While Metatron's attention was focused on Castiel, she had somehow struggled to her feet behind Metatron. Before he had the chance to turn around, she withdrew her Angel blade and thrust it into his back, as hard as she could.

And Metatron fell to the floor, face first, dead.

The effort had taken all the strength Gail had left, and her knees buckled. Castiel rushed to her, but she waved him off. "Go see about Sam and Dean," she insisted. "I'll be OK, I just need a minute." He hesitated. "Go!" she cried.

Castiel ran to where Dean and Sam lay. He grabbed Dean and tried to raise him to a sitting position, looking to heal him. But Dean was gone.

Cas crawled over to Sam then, but Sam was also dead.

Gail watched as Castiel moved from one brother to the other. Her mind flashed back to herself as a little girl, doing the same thing with her parents. She could see the anguish on Castiel's face and she knew.

She crawled over to him then and, after they both checked the brothers one more time, they had to accept the truth. They held each other and cried.

CROWLEY, 1.7

Crowley and Frank had finished their discussion, and Frank was on board. Crowley had a minion show Frank to his room, an opulent suite in the Knights' wing. Like his sister, Frank seemed to appreciate the finer things in life, and his new boss wanted to set him up in style. Crowley anticipated great dividends to come from his new employee very soon, and he recognized the value of incentives.

The contract Garth and Bess had signed began to glow in Crowley's pocket and he knew it was time to fulfill his end of the deal.

He winked out of the throne room and reappeared in the vacant office in Dallas.

Crowley looked around the room at the blood, the bodies. He shook his head. "And they say I'M violent."

He looked down at Castiel and Gail, still weeping in each other's arms. "Awww. The young non-lovers. How touching."

Crowley strode over to the Winchesters. "A deal is a deal," he said, and touched Dean's forehead, then Sam's.

Castiel and Gail had risen and taken out their Angel blades, but Crowley was not about to let them spoil the fun he had planned.

"Easy, you two, I'm leaving now," he said to them. "But we'll all get together again, very soon." He smiled at Gail. "Your brother sends his regards, sweetheart."

Then he vanished.

CASTIEL AND GAIL, 1.1

They just stood there in shock, gaping at the empty space where Crowley had stood. What had just happened?

Suddenly, they heard coughing and retching noises coming from behind them. Castiel and Gail spun around to see Sam and Dean sitting up, shaking their heads as if coming out of unconsciousness.

Sam coughed once more, then looked at his friends and said, "What happened? Where's Metatron?"

Dean was struggling to his feet. "Are you guys OK?"

Castiel ran to Dean and threw his arms around him. Dean threw up his arms and said, "Whoa, Cas, what the hell?"

Cas didn't care. He was just so happy to see the brothers apparently alive and well. He'd worry about the implications later. He moved over to Sam and hugged him too. Sam looked puzzled, but submitted to the hug, tentatively patting Cas's back.

Gail gave the men their moment. She wanted to hug the stuffing out of the brothers too, but most of all she wanted to know what the hell Crowley was up to. The Winchesters were dead, Cas and Gail had been sure of it. Then the King of Hell shows up to revive them? She was also burning at the crack he'd made about Frank.

But the main thing she wanted to do now was get the hell out of here. Gail looked at Castiel and he knew what she was thinking. So she took Dean's arm and Cas took Sam's, and they transported the brothers back to the motel.

Castiel healed Sam and Dean's wounds and then examined the men so closely they started to feel uncomfortable.

"Stop staring at me, Cas, you're giving me the heebie-jeebies," Dean said. He lay down on his bed, groaning. His wounds had been healed but he felt sore, tired. Cas hadn't been lying; Metatron sure packed a punch.

As Castiel moved to Gail and began healing her wounds, Sam said, "What happened, Cas? How long were we out?"

"Yeah," Dean added, "and I saw Metatron and Aurielle on the floor back there. Are they both dead?"

Cas and Gail drew up chairs. This story was going to take a while to explain.

Sam and Dean were amazed when Cas and Gail told them what had transpired in the room after the brothers had been knocked unconscious.

Dean was also more than a little impressed by Gail. "So you knifed the little asshat right in the back," he said to her. Then he nodded and smiled. "Good job."

She smiled back briefly, but Gail was a bit unsettled. She didn't exactly regret what she'd done, and she'd do it again in a heartbeat. But it was the first time she'd ever killed anyone as herself. Yes, she'd killed the Demon child in Crowley's den, but she'd been under the influence of Crowley's Demon blood and of Crowley himself when she'd done it. She was an Angel now, and even though she knew that Angels sometimes needed to fight and to kill, she'd been raised to believe that killing was wrong. This was a strange new world she lived in.

Sam said, "So then you woke us up?" He looked at Cas.

"Sorry, man," Dean added, embarrassed at how easily he and Sam had been subdued by Metatron. "Guess you were right about Metatron. We obviously weren't prepared."

Cas and Gail exchanged glances. It was time that the brothers heard the rest of the story. Gail suddenly had an appreciation for Castiel's reluctance to disclose the full truth at times. It was somehow harder when you were the one who had to break it to someone you cared about.

She put her hand on Castiel's arm for reassurance, and he sighed, then told the Winchesters that when he'd gotten to them, they'd already died. He and Gail had both tried to help them, but it was too late.

Sam shook his head. "You must have just thought we were dead, Cas."

"No, Sam," Cas replied. "You were both...gone." His voice caught. The memory of the pain he'd felt was still too fresh.

"OK, then how are we sitting here right now?" Dean asked impatiently.

"It was Crowley," Gail blurted out. "He showed up out of nowhere and touched both of you. Then he disappeared, and you were alive again."

"Crowley?!" the brothers said at the same time.

"I know how unbelievable it sounds," Cas told them, "but it's true. What we don't know is why. He said 'a deal is a deal'."

"Yeah, whatever that means," Gail chimed in. Then she told the brothers about Crowley's parting shot.

"Ohh, he's gonna pay," Dean seethed.

"Yes, he will," Castiel confirmed, "but for now, I suggest you and Sam get some rest."

"Rest?" Dean scoffed. "Sammy and I have just come back from the dead. Again. Screw rest, we're going for beers and burgers!" He rose. "But first, I'm getting out of this monkey suit."

"Meet you back here in five?" Sam said to Gail and Cas.

"No, you guys go ahead," Gail said. She thought the three of them should have their bro-ment and since she neither ate nor drank any more, she didn't really see the point in tagging along. Besides, even though she was glad beyond words that Dean and Sam were back in the land of the living, Gail wasn't really in a partying mood. She was thinking about what Crowley had said, about Frank and about "getting together soon". She wanted Frank free, but they would have to go through Crowley and his Demon army to get him. If she thought today was traumatizing, she hadn't seen anything yet.

Gail looked at the three men fondly, said, "I'll see you when you get back," and went out the front door to her and Castiel's room next door. She opened the door with her key, closed it behind her, dropped the key on the table, and went into the bathroom to change into more comfortable clothes.

Then Gail came out of the bathroom and laid down on one of the beds. She'd given up on her lame attempts at sleep by now, but she closed her eyes anyway. It felt familiar, comforting.

Now that Gail was out of the room, Sam and Dean began to strip off their FBI suits, rooting around in their bags for jeans and T-shirts.

"Crowley, huh?" Sam said to Cas, unbuttoning his shirt.

"Yes," Cas said.

"As soon as we get back to the bunker, we're going to come up with a plan to take care of that douchebag," Dean said to Cas. He threw his suit pants on the floor and pulled on his jeans. "We'll break Frank out, Cas. We'll find a way."

Cas smiled at his friends. He was so glad they were OK. Even if it had been Crowley who brought them back. But he still wondered about the deal the King of Hell had mentioned, and worried about what Crowley had planned next.

"Ready?" Dean asked Cas, grabbing his keys.

"I'm not going with you, Dean," Cas told him. "I have to talk to Gail."

"You can talk to her when we get back," Dean said, clapping him on the shoulder.

But Cas didn't move. Then Dean looked him in the eye, and he got it.

"Oh, you mean..." Dean began.

Cas nodded. "I lost the two of you today," he said, looking at both brothers, "and I nearly lost Gail. It's time." He gave Dean a weak smile. "Maybe you'd better leave me a key. I may have to stay here tonight."

Dean felt a rush of affection for Cas. He was truly one of a kind. He clapped Cas on the shoulder once more, his way of expressing love for his friend.

The three of them went out the front door, then Dean suddenly smacked himself in the head. "Oh, crap, I forgot. Baby's still at the police station!"

"It's OK, Dean, we probably shouldn't be driving anyway," Sam said practically. "I plan on having more than a couple of beers. Maybe some shots, too."

Dean grinned at him. Now Sammy was talking his language.

"Give me the keys," Cas said to Dean. "Sam's right, you shouldn't drink and drive. I'll get the car and bring it here."

Dean hesitated. He was very possessive of the Impala. He hadn't even let Sam drive it when they'd first headed out on the road together. Then he shrugged. Besides Sammy, if he couldn't trust Cas, then who could he trust? After all the poor guy had been through today and what he was about to face, he deserved a break.

So Dean gave Cas the Impala's keys and he and Sam went to the motel office to call a cab.

Cas pocketed the keys and turned to enter the door of his and Gail's room.

Gail heard the door open and sat up, startled. When she saw that it was Castiel, she relaxed. What was he doing here, though?

She started to get up, but Castiel said, "No. Please stay there." Gail looked at him, puzzled. "Please," he repeated.

Castiel took off his coat and draped it on one of the chairs, then came over to where Gail was. He sat down on the bed next to her and kicked off his shoes. Then he looked Gail in the eyes.

"Lay down," he said to her. "Please."

He was acting strangely, Gail thought, but she read his face and didn't argue for once. She laid back down on the bed and he lay down with her, wrapping his arms around her.

Gail returned his embrace and they lay together for quite a while, not saying a word, drawing comfort from each other.

It was not long enough, it would never be long enough, but it would have to do.

"I have to talk to you," Castiel murmured into Gail's ear. "I have to tell you everything about myself. I want to tell you everything."

He broke the embrace reluctantly and sat up. Gail sat up too, her eyes searching his. She had been waiting for him to say this for so long, but Gail now found herself dreading it as well.

Castiel stood up and crossed the room, pacing nervously. Now that he had decided to do this, he had no idea how or where to begin.

"Please sit down somewhere, Castiel, you're making me nervous," Gail said to him.

"That makes two of us," he quipped.

She smiled. Whatever he had to say to her, it couldn't be that bad.

Castiel came back to where Gail was and sat down on the bed across from her, looking her in the eyes. Still, he said nothing.

"Why don't you start from the time you rescued Dean from Hell?" Gail prompted.

He looked at her guiltily. "You know about that?"

She nodded. "Dean told me about it last night." Had it only been last night? she thought. Wow.

"OK, we'll start from there," Castiel agreed. That's where it had all begun anyway.

So he took a deep breath and told her about pulling Dean out of Hell, so that Dean could help God and Heaven prevent the 66 seals from being broken, releasing Lucifer from the pit of Hell.

In order to communicate with Dean on Earth, Castiel had had to possess a human vessel. Anyone who perceived him in his true form would have been blinded, he explained. A man named Jimmy Novak had prayed to Heaven, wanting to serve, so Castiel had taken over his body to use. He had in fact possessed Jimmy twice. Once Castiel had thought that he was going to leave the earth and return to Heaven, he had left Jimmy's body and Jimmy had been able to return to his wife and daughter. However, Demons had interrupted the happy family reunion by kidnapping Jimmy's wife and child. Jimmy was shot trying to rescue them and Castiel came back down to Earth, ostensibly to help. He had needed a vessel, so Castiel took over Jimmy's daughter Claire's body. But Jimmy had begged Castiel to come back into his body to spare his daughter, and so Castiel had relented, healing Jimmy's vessel from within but ultimately killing Jimmy in the process. Yes, Jimmy was an Angel now, but Castiel had killed him and torn apart his family.

Gail opened her mouth to speak then, perhaps to defend Castiel to himself, but he held up his hand. "Please, Gail. Just let me get this all out. If you have any questions, any at all, I promise you I'll answer them after I finish. Okay?"

She nodded. "Okay." Gail could appreciate how hard this was for Castiel. He was not a loquacious man at the best of times, and so far what he'd shared wasn't that bad, but he obviously felt guilty about it. She had been about to try to make him feel better about what he'd had to do when he had stopped her.

Castiel continued with his story. When he'd first come to Earth he'd been an emotionless soldier of Heaven, blindly following orders. Whatever he'd had to do, whomever he'd had to kill, he'd felt nothing. Believing that what he was being asked to do was right, because Heaven had asked it of him.

But the more time he had spent with Dean and Sam, the more he had begun to question his orders and the so-called mission. The Angels and the Winchesters had often worked at cross purposes, and Castiel had found himself having to choose sides. More often than not, he'd come down on the Winchesters' side. The morality, or the lack of morality, of his orders had caused Castiel to question them.

So he had finally rebelled, and he was punished. He was never sure by who, as God had apparently left Heaven by then. Where He had gone, no one knew. Maybe He was roaming the earth incognito, researching the human condition. Maybe He was following The Grateful Dead from town to town. In any event, God had left the building, and whoever had put themselves in charge had banished Castiel from his home. Optimistically, he had borrowed Dean's amulet and searched high and low for his Father, but He couldn't be found. Or didn't want to be found, that was probably more like it. So Castiel turned to the bottle, but having experienced his one and only hangover, he had put the bottle down and proceeded to just give up on Heaven, on everything.

Then he'd found out that Heaven had no interest in preventing the Apocalypse that was imminent, the one that the Winchesters had been busting their asses to prevent. That had given Castiel a wake-up call. God had taken a powder, and Heaven had to be in pretty sorry shape if the End of Days seemed like an acceptable idea. So Castiel had re-upped, and went back to Heaven, thinking that it was he who should lead in God's absence. That he was worthy to do so.

That was when the Angel wars had started, pitting Brother against Brother in the battle for supremacy. In a desperate and wholly misguided attempt to win the war, Castiel had proposed a partnership with Crowley.

Gail looked at him sharply then, and Castiel hung his head in shame. But there was much more to come, and it got worse.

Castiel's confession continued. He had deceived Dean and Sam into thinking that Crowley was no longer a threat by burning bones that Castiel had alleged to be Crowley's. But Castiel was lying, and had aligned himself with the King of Hell in an unholy partnership to open the gates of Purgatory and acquire the souls within. True, he'd never had any intention of letting Crowley have any of those souls; even though the deal had been 50-50, Castiel could not allow it. So Castiel had double-crossed Crowley and absorbed all of the souls into himself, foolishly and arrogantly believing that this absorption would give him the power he needed to win the war.

But as the saying went, absolute power corrupts absolutely. With all of that power coursing through him, Castiel had felt omnipotent. He'd killed his Brother, the Archangel Raphael, with a mere snap of his fingers. Just because he could. Then, drunk with his own power, Castiel had declared himself the new God. He had told the Winchesters that they had better profess their love and loyalty to him, or they would be destroyed. As a final act of evil, when Sam defied him, Castiel had removed the wall in Sam's brain that had kept him from remembering having been tortured by Lucifer while Sam had been in the pit of Hell. Sam had sacrificed himself by jumping into the pit and this action had prevented the Apocalypse. But now Sam's memories would come flooding back, and Sam was slowly going to go insane.

True, Castiel had taken Sam's insanity into himself and had taken Sam's place in the mental institution, but this act would not have been necessary in the first place were it not for Castiel's actions.

And he had killed too many of his own kind to list, and not always in self-defense. Castiel had killed those Angels in the Garden when they would not commit to his side, thinking that if they did not stand for him, they would stand against him. Castiel had failed to realize the one fact that Metatron and others had been trying to tell him all along: that most Angels were sheep, with no free will and no minds of their own. They needed a shepherd, and when faced with a decision, many refused to decide rather than make the wrong one.

If he only had known then what he knew now. If he'd only had the emotions he possessed now back then, things would have gone far differently. But none of that mattered. He had done all of those things, and no amount of regret or atonement could erase the past.

But he had tried. With his vessel about to burst from the power of all the corrupted souls from Purgatory, Castiel had attempted to take it all back. He had cast himself into Purgatory. But the Leviathans, the worst of the bunch, had burst free from his body just before he jumped, and had visited their scourge upon the earth, killing many humans in the process.

Dean had leaped after Castiel, wanting only to save him, and then they were both stuck in Purgatory, fighting off tortured souls and monsters. But then Dean had miraculously gotten out. He'd tried to take Cas with him but Castiel had elected to stay, choosing the existence of constant torture and fear as his just punishment.

Eventually, Castiel was delivered from Purgatory, pulled out by an Angel named Naomi. But she had an agenda of her own, and had programmed Castiel to return to Earth and spy on the Winchesters and report back to her in secret. He had lied to and conspired against the brothers, and had even killed the young and innocent Angel Samandriel at Naomi's behest.

Then things came to a head when Castiel and Dean had found the Angel tablet. In a few minutes of surreal horror, Castiel had beaten Dean within an inch of his life and almost killed him, under Naomi's direction, over possession of the Angel tablet. But somehow, Castiel had stopped himself just short of murdering his friend, and when Castiel had picked up the Angel tablet, Naomi's spell over him was broken and Castiel fled.

Gail pretty much knew the rest. Then Metatron had entered the picture and had caused the Fall, duping Castiel into believing that he was helping to restore Heaven, when in fact he was helping Metatron to exact his revenge. Then Metatron had stolen most of his Grace and Castiel was living his life as a human being, with all the inherent weaknesses and frailties. That was when Castiel's life began to truly turn around. It was only by being human that he was finally able to understand what being a true Angel was supposed to be all about. He remembered his time as a human very fondly, despite the hunger, the homelessness, and the constant awareness of his own mortality. And he would never forget. Even though he had been restored to full Angel status now and had more powers now than ever before due to Gail's miracle cure, which of course had indirectly come from God Himself, Castiel would never again abuse his powers. He was a better Angel now, a humbled one, and he was sorry for everything he'd been and everything he'd done, so very, very sorry.

Castiel was done. He turned his head away from Gail and began to weep silently, his whole body shaking with the weight of his guilt and sorrow.

Gail was frozen. Stunned. Beyond shocked. She had no words to say, nothing to offer him. She wished he'd just kept his mouth shut.

She could see where he'd been coming from in certain aspects of his story. He'd tried to make things right every time he'd screwed up, displaying remorse and morality in his attempts at atonement.

But forming an alliance with Crowley? Angel murders for no other reason than hubris? Driving Sam to the brink of insanity? Beating and almost killing Dean?

Yes, he was clearly a good man now, or a good Angel, or whatever. But did that make up for the laundry list of wrongs and evil deeds that he had committed along the way?

"That's one hell of a resume you've got," Gail said bitterly, and Castiel flinched, as though she'd slapped him across the face.

She felt cold inside. Castiel continued to cry but she couldn't find it in her heart to even try to comfort him. Where was her comfort? She had cast her lot with him and she didn't even know who he was. And meanwhile, her brother was being held captive by Castiel's old partner Crowley, and Castiel hadn't lifted a finger to help, preferring to pursue his own agenda. His "mission". Had he really changed at all? Sure, he claimed he had prayed to God, and she only had a dream as proof. And while she was glad that Metatron was dead, last Gail looked Crowley was still thriving, doing God only knew what to her brother. And she was living with the man who could have killed Crowley, not once but twice, and he hadn't done the job either time. Maybe Castiel had only claimed to want his "Brother" dead. She'd been taking Castiel's word this whole time, believing everything he said, and he was a liar and a monster.

Gail ran to the front door of the motel, yanked it open, and fled.

GOD, 1.3

God had been listening to his Son's soliloquy with great interest.

He watched as Castiel told Gail the entire, unvarnished truth about his past. Never faltering, not once trying to make excuses.

What a brave thing for Castiel to have done. And perhaps the most foolish thing he had ever done, as well.

God was not surprised that Gail had reacted the way she did. When you heard it all in one shot as she had, with no explanation or extenuating circumstances, Castiel's story was daunting, at best. God would have been disappointed in Gail had she not been shocked.

In fact, He chuckled softly at her exit line. Maybe He should send Bobby in another dream to Dean to advise him to consult Gail for any future trash-talking lessons Castiel might have coming to him. She had spirit, that was for sure.

God was not unsympathetic to the sight of his Son weeping, but he was philosophical about it. You did reap what you sowed, after all. That line had always been true. If the partnership was meant to survive, it would. God may have had a hand in bringing them together, but it was in their hands now. He hoped Gail would be able to forgive Castiel. If they could get past this, theirs would be the strongest union He had ever fostered.

In any event, God had been impressed by what He had seen from both of them. This was a huge test, and there were others ahead, but so far they were passing with flying colours.

DEAN AND GAIL, 1.1

A moment or two after Gail left their motel room, Castiel wiped his eyes, took a deep breath, and went to where he'd put his coat to get his cell phone out of the pocket.

He called Dean.

"Yeah, Cas, what's up?" Dean answered.

Cas told him about Gail's having run out of the motel. "We need to find her," he said. "Where are you and Sam? I'll get the car and pick you up."

Dean gave him the location and said he and Sam would be waiting outside.

Castiel locked up the room, then vanished and reappeared in front of the Dallas police station. He spared a glance at the office building where the confrontation had taken place earlier in the day. He wondered what God would do about Metatron and Aurielle. When Angels were killed they were usually just gone, but God could elect to place their souls somewhere if the situation warranted. Castiel frowned. He knew what he would do if called upon to decide. But it was not his place to think like that. If the summary of his past misdeeds had been good for anything other than just finally getting it off his chest, it had also served as a reminder of the dangers of thinking like that. No one had the right to pass judgment on another's soul. Him, least of all.

Castiel drove to where Sam and Dean were and picked them up.

"How are we going to find Gail, Cas?" Sam asked him. "She could be anywhere."

"We'll just have to drive around," Cas said grimly. "I'm sure I'll sense her if she's near."

Great, Dean thought. He and Sammy had been having a helluva good time, too. But he realized the importance of finding Gail. She was wandering around somewhere in a strange city and it was starting to get dark. Yes, she was an Angel and she could take care of herself, but he still didn't like it. Cas hadn't said much of anything about what had happened between them, but he didn't have to. One look at his face and Dean knew.

They drove around the city aimlessly for about an hour, maybe two, and Castiel perked up then, almost as if he was a bloodhound who'd caught a scent. He turned a corner and parked in front of a church.

"She's in there," he said to the other two. He was relieved, not only to have found her, but by the fact that she'd gone to a church. There were a lot worse places she could have ended up.

"Well?" Dean demanded. "Are you gonna go talk to her?"

Cas looked horrified. "No! She doesn't want to see me. You go talk to her, Dean."

"What do you want me to say?"

Cas sighed. "I don't know. You'll think of something."

Dean rolled his eyes but got out of the car. "Cas-" he started, but when Cas said "Yes?", Dean waved him off. "Forget it."

Dean walked up the steps to the church. He didn't know what he'd been about to say. Maybe that Cas should just sack up and talk to Gail himself. But then he'd thought better of it. Dean knew better than anyone else what Cas had done over the years while here on Earth. Dean himself had been there for all of it and so he knew that most of Cas's actions had been justified in the end or at least had come from a well-intentioned place. But anyone hearing the whole thing out of the blue like that and with no frame of reference would have been shocked. And that's probably how Cas would have told it to her, too. Dean smiled to himself. Bluntly. Cas had learned a lot of human qualities, but he was not big on finesse.

He saw Gail sitting in the very back pew, as if she'd been afraid to go any further inside. She was probably questioning a lot of things right now. Dean had never been big on churches himself; all the opulence and formality. If you wanted to pray, you just prayed. He had prayed from a lot of seedy hotel rooms in his time, but Dean had never felt like his prayers were worth less than if they had been made from a fancy cathedral.

He approached Gail cautiously, but the church was quiet and she'd already heard him coming.

"Out of all the churches in all the world, you had to walk into mine," she quipped. Gail didn't know if Dean would get the movie reference, but it was the first thing that had popped out of her mouth.

She moved over to let Dean sit down beside her.

"How'd you know it was me?" he asked Gail.

She shrugged. "I just knew." She looked at him. "So, did he send you here to fetch me?"

Dean shook his head. "No," he said, "I'm just here to talk."

She nodded. "So, are you here to make excuses for him?" She looked towards the altar and grimaced. This was probably not the best place to be talking about this stuff. If she said what she was really feeling at the moment, they were within prime smiting range.

Gail said this to Dean and he laughed. "You're probably right," he agreed. Then: "So let's go somewhere else."

He grabbed her hand and they walked out of the church. But when they got outside and she saw the car in front with Castiel at the wheel, Gail halted. "No," she said. "I don't want to talk to him."

Crap, Dean thought. She really was upset. Okay, Plan B.

"Wait here," Dean instructed her. He walked down the stairs to the car and poked his head in the passenger window. "We're gonna go have a drink and talk," he told Cas. "You and Sam go back to the motel."

Cas's face fell, but really, what had he expected? That all would be magically forgiven and she would just run into his arms? At least she was willing to talk with Dean. That was something.

Cas started the engine but Dean said, "Yeah, I don't think so, pal." Cas looked at him. "Take Sammy and do your Angel thing out of here. I want my Baby back."

Cas was in no position to argue. He and Sam got out of the car. He glanced up at Gail but she was pointedly looking away. Then Castiel put his hand on Sam's arm and they vanished.

Dean and Gail drove to the nearest bar and sat at a corner table where they could speak without being overheard.

"You must have lots of questions," Dean said to her.

"I'm not sure if I do," she said. "The story was pretty, umm, detailed."

He smiled. "Yeah, that's Cas for you. What he lacks in tact he makes up for in bluntness."

Gail's eyes teared up but she smiled through them.

Dean continued, "Well, I've said it before but I'll say it again: He really puts the 'ass' in 'Cas'."

Gail laughed then. Dean. How did he do that? She'd gone from nearly crying again to laughing in 2 seconds flat. He was the only person she could have talked to about this right now.

Then she turned serious. "It was brutal, Dean."

He sighed. "I know. But I was there for the whole thing, and I know some of it-" she gave him a sharp look - "OK, a lot of it, sounds bad. But he made the only decisions he could make at the time."

She was skeptical. "Including being partners with Crowley?"

Dean sighed again. He knew that would be where she went first. Not that he could blame her.

He took a deep breath. "Yeah, well, about that. I agree that was a dumbass thing to do. But to be honest..." he paused.

"What?" she prompted.

It hurt him to have to admit this, but Cas wasn't the only one culpable when it came to Crowley, and Gail had to know. "To be honest, Sam and I have had numerous chances to finish Crowley, but we didn't. That's on us."

"Then why didn't you?" she asked.

"I don't know," Dean admitted. "There always seemed to be a good reason. Believe it or not, we needed his help on occasion, and..." he trailed off. It sounded lame coming out of his mouth, let alone having to hear it.

"All I'm saying," he tried again, "is we're just as much to blame as Cas for him still being around. Probably more."

Gail thought it was really sweet of him to try to bail out his friend, but...

"I'll be mad at you and Sam later, then," she said, "but how about killing all those Angels? How about what he did to you and Sam?"

Dean considered what she was saying. When looked at from her viewpoint, he couldn't disagree. Cas HAD done some rotten things in the past and he couldn't sugarcoat them.

But: "He's also bailed us out of countless situations. I can't even tell you how many times we would be dead if it wasn't for him. He's been on our side the whole time, even when it didn't seem like it. And he really has changed, Gail." Dean put his hand on hers on top of the table. It was important that she understood. "The man he is now would never do any of those things. He's more human now. Probably my bad influence." Dean smiled and sat back in his chair, taking a swig from his beer bottle. Gail smiled.

Dean continued, "And I'll tell you something else. Heaven, and the Angels, they did a real number on him. I don't know what the hell goes on up there, but there's been some messed-up stuff coming out of Heaven over the years. They screwed with Cas so much he couldn't tell the good guys from the bad guys most of the time. But he always knew right from wrong, and he always did the right thing." Dean grimaced. "Eventually."

Gail smiled again. She couldn't help herself. Dean had said all the right things without ever making it sound like he was making excuses for Castiel. Maybe she could look at the whole thing with a little more perspective now.

"We've all made mistakes in our past," Dean said. "Some pretty big ones, too. Hell, we'd need a case of booze just to get through the last few years of my life." He smiled sadly, looking her in the eye. "But the only thing we can do is get past them, and learn from them."

"But...Crowley?" That was the one thing Gail couldn't seem to get past. Crowley was responsible for the deaths of her entire family and here he still was, screwing with her again, taunting her with her dead-but-possibly-alive brother. It was too much.

"I seem to recall a time, not too long ago, when you were in Crowley's company," Dean said coolly, sounding eerily like his Angel friend. "How was the wine THERE?"

She had been about to take a sip from her glass but put it down. Ouch. That one hurt. But Dean was right. Maybe she needed to come down off her high horse. As mistakes went, hers had been pretty big, too. Who was she to judge others' mistakes when she had that on her own resume?

"Point taken." She raised her glass to Dean and drained it. A pit of guilt was forming in her stomach, and they were done here. "Let's go home."

CASTIEL, 1.10

While Dean and Gail had been having their talk, Sam and Castiel were having theirs.

The unique qualities each brother possessed matched up with each of their Angel friends perfectly. Almost like it had been prearranged. Dean's candour and humour had disarmed Gail, making her receptive to his message. And Sam's empathy and open-mindedness were the ideal personality traits for his conversation with Castiel.

"She'll come around, Cas," Sam said to him. "You've just got to give her some time. That was a lot to take in all at once, especially since she wasn't there for any of it."

Cas was sitting on the edge of one of the beds, head hanging down, hands on his knees. His stomach hurt, his vessel's manifestation of the anguish he felt. He knew perfectly well how his confession would have come across to someone who hadn't been there. He HAD been there, and it didn't sound any better to him. He didn't regret having told Gail everything, though. His past was something he'd been working to come to terms with and telling her about it had been a catharsis. It was something that would have always stood between them if he hadn't been totally honest with her, the proverbial elephant in the room.

But that didn't make the current situation any easier to handle. Castiel had never dealt with anything like this before, and though he had come a long way, he was ill-equipped to deal with the emotions he was feeling now.

Like Dean, Sam had also been there for all of the events Cas had described to Gail; and like Dean, Sam knew there had been extenuating circumstances behind some of their friend's actions. The brothers had clashed with Cas over his methods and decisions through the years, it was true. But they had worked through it together, and had each others' backs when it really mattered.

"It'll be OK, Cas," Sam reassured him. "You'll see,"

Castiel looked at him. "How can you be so sure, Sam?"

Sam sighed inwardly. He wasn't, really. But it was what you said to a friend.

So he took a leaf out of Dean's book: "Because you're not nearly as much of a dick as you used to be," Sam said to Cas, grinning.

Cas smiled then. He couldn't help it. How lucky he was to have Sam and Dean as friends.

When Dean and Gail returned to the motel, they entered Sam and Dean's room and found Sam and Castiel seated at the table, deep in conversation. A conversation which halted abruptly.

Gail had had some time to think on the car ride back, and she now realized that despite everything Castiel had told her, she wanted to forgive him. And truthfully, she now needed him to forgive her. She was far from perfect, and Dean had helped her to see that. They had all made mistakes in the past. If she condemned Castiel for his mistakes, what did that say about her own? That they were somehow forgivable, because they were hers? Yet he had never condemned her for the time she had spent in Crowley's den or for the acts she'd committed there. In fact, all Castiel had done was to rescue her from damnation, not once but twice, appeal to God on her behalf when she'd died, and comforted her when her guilt about what she'd done had become too much to bear.

Could women be dicks? She'd have to ask Dean about that.

But for the moment, Gail said, "Hi, Sam," then looked at Castiel and said, "Can we go next door and talk?" He looked at her with such trepidation that she added, "Please."

Castiel rose from his chair and Sam gave him a brief nod of encouragement. In unconscious imitation of Dean, Cas clapped Sam on the shoulder.

Gail kissed Dean on the cheek. "Thanks, Dean," she said. He gave her arm a squeeze, smiling.

Once Cas and Gail left the room, the brothers compared notes and concluded that their friends were going to be OK.

The moment they entered the room, Castiel said, "Gail..." but she held up her hand.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Yes, of course," Castiel replied. What was she going to ask him? He would answer anything she asked him honestly, no matter what the consequences. But he could not have anticipated the question she asked now:

"Will you forgive me?"

He looked at her in amazement. He couldn't have heard her right.

Gail walked over to where he stood and took both of his hands in hers. "I need to ask your forgiveness," she said.

"YOU'RE asking MY forgiveness?" Castiel asked, still not quite believing what he was hearing.

"Please."

"What for?" he asked her, astonished.

Gail laughed shortly. "Where do I start? For acting like Little Miss Perfect. Like I've never made any mistakes or wrong choices. For acting like I had the right to judge you, or anyone, for that matter. Because I don't."

"I don't know what to say," Cas said softly. "It's me who should be asking you for forgiveness."

Gail smiled. She was growing tired of the melodrama, sick of herself, and wanted to shortcut this whole thing to the point where she and Castiel were OK again.

So she said, "OK, let's just agree to forgive each other, and then I'll teach you how to play cards."

Castiel looked puzzled for a moment, then he smiled.

Gail opened her arms. "As our very good friend Dean would say, 'Bring it in'," she said, and moved in to hug him. Castiel returned her embrace, holding her tightly.

"The past is the past," Gail said into his ear, "I'm only looking at the future. With Dean, with Sam, and with you."

Cas pulled out of the embrace to look down at Gail's face, where he saw the forgiveness he'd needed to see. And because the moment cried out for it, he impulsively kissed her on the lips and she returned his kiss happily.

GOD, 1.4

He appeared in the office building in Dallas, where the bodies of Metatron and Aurielle still lay.

God seldom visited these kinds of scenes on Earth, preferring to send designated representatives, but this was a special case.

He looked down at Aurielle's body with some sympathy in His eyes. She had been ill-used by Chuck and Metatron, it was true. But she had still made the choice to take up a weapon and torture her Sister, when she could have refused. He would send her soul to Purgatory for a while and then if she showed remorse, He would consider allowing her to return to Heaven.

He looked down at Metatron's body and felt great sadness. His Scribe had been one of His original Angels and as such, had occupied a special place in God's heart. But after showing so much promise, Metatron had chosen to go the way of his Brother Lucifer and for that, he would have to pay the ultimate price. His soul would be cast into Hell and he would suffer, as he'd made so many others suffer. First Lucifer, then Cain, now Metatron. God sighed.

But there were bright spots, too. He hadn't been able to resist checking up on the situation with Castiel and Gail, and God had been pleased. The Winchesters were true friends of the Angels and had provided the support and wisdom they'd needed. Their partnership had held up, as God had hoped that it would, and was now stronger than ever. He knew they'd need this strength when it came time to face Crowley and his Demons. Gail would need their support when she discovered that her brother was now a full Knight of Hell, who was enthusiastically taking souls for the King.

God returned to his office in Heaven, closing the two files but keeping others open. He sighed again. When this was all over, He would be the happiest one of them all.

ROWENA, 1.7

She entered the throne room to speak to her son and, as usual these days, found him sitting on the throne with a drink in his hand. And surprise, surprise, Fergus's drinking companion was the newly minted Knight, Frank.

Those two were thick as thieves now, and Rowena didn't much care for it. While she had initially been impressed by the success of Frank's conversion and his willingness to serve her son, Rowena's doubts had begun to grow. The King and his favoured Knight had formed a Boys' Club of sorts, and more often than not could be found here, drinking and strategizing. That made her the odd woman out, and whenever she entered the throne room now Rowena was made to feel that her presence was an instrusion.

It was time to shake things up.

Rowena approached her son and said, "How was your day, dearie?" She made to kiss him on the forehead, but Crowley pulled away.

"Fine, Mother," he said petulantly. "What do you want?"

Frank smirked, and rose to refill his drink from the bar that now stood beside the throne.

Rowena fixed him with a baleful glare, and Frank gave her a sardonic smile in return.

"Can we talk alone for a wee moment?" Rowena said to Crowley. She spoke sweetly, taking care not to appear churlish in front of the hired help. Especially since her son and his employee had grown so close. Rowena's position in Crowley's court had always been on the precarious side, but seemed even more so now. She regretted ever having helped him to reanimate Gail's brother. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Crowley sighed, annoyed. He realized his mother wouldn't leave until she'd had her say, so he asked Frank to give them a minute alone. Frank frowned, but obediently left the room, taking a fresh drink with him.

Crowley turned to Rowena. "What is it, Mother?" he snapped.

Rowena sat in the chair Frank had just vacated, taking time to get comfortable. Almost as if ensconcing herself in Frank's chair would accomplish her replacement of him in her son's heart and mind.

Crowley poured himself another drink as he waited for his mother to speak. Rowena frowned, watching him. He had been drinking far too much lately and even though alcohol did not affect Demons in the same way as humans, his behaviour was becoming more Fergus than Crowley. There was a reason that Fergus had been unsuccessful in life, and drink had been a big part of it. Rowena wanted to make sure the King of Hell kept his edge; she would need him at his best if they hoped to get Gail back in the fold. And she was now more eager than ever to make that happen. Once Gail had her powers back and had joined her brother as a Knight of Hell, the brother and sister would be a team again. And once that happened, Rowena could worm her way back into the throne room to sit by her son's side once more. Perhaps they would co-rule, perhaps Rowena would have to kill her son and throw his bones back into the grave where she'd found them. She hadn't decided yet.

"It appears that the Knight Frank is serving you well," Rowena said to Crowley in a conciliatory manner.

His face brightened. Crowley was particularly proud of his success in recruiting Frank and truth be told, had grown close to Gail's brother. While it was true that he no longer felt the human emotions he once had, Crowley felt like a proud father to Frank all the same. He had taken a Hunter and transformed him into a Knight of Hell, an intimidating and effective killing machine. It could be argued that the two job descriptions were virtually identical, but Frank was now on the right side of the coin and the numbers were rolling in. Crowley now looked forward to their debriefing sessions. They would have a few drinks together to unwind, and Frank would give him the daily report, the blow-by-blow, as it were. These meetings were the high point of Crowley's day. Maybe before he killed Dean and Sam Winchester, Crowley would tell them he finally got the male bonding thing.

Rowena went on to say, "Is the plan in place for retrieving Gail?"

Crowley looked at her sharply. He honestly hadn't formulated a plan, having been content for the moment to have Frank and his companionship. The acquisition of Gail could only shift the paradigm. But only humans let emotions decide their actions. He was the King of Hell, and as such, he had to do what was best for the operation as a whole. With Gail and her powers back on the staff, the numbers would go through the roof.

Rowena smiled. She could still read her son like a book. "Let me help," she said.

They discussed and rejected various scenarios, scheming and plotting, just like the old days, Frank temporarily forgotten. It did Rowena's black heart good. And when they'd finally decided what to do, Rowena rose and went to kiss her son again. And this time he did not pull away.

GARTH, 1.6

Garth and Bess lay blissfully together on the forest floor. They had just finished making love for the last time, and they were looking at the moon, which was just starting to cycle back to being full.

This was also the last time they would have to suffer through another cycle, always hungry, using every ounce of will power they had not to give in to their true natures. A small blessing, considering what lay ahead, but the couple was thankful all the same.

Their week was up. The standard contract allowed 10 happy and successful years before the signer was dragged into Hell. But Crowley had driven a hard bargain, informing them that the saving of one Winchester soul, let alone two, went so against his grain that he would give them one week only. Take it or leave it. So they had taken it, and now it was Bess and Garth that were waiting to be taken.

They'd had their visit with Bess's family, ostensibly to say their goodbyes. But upon seeing their faces, Bess had balked and instead informed them that she and Garth were going on vacation and would be in touch. Maybe that was best, Garth had thought, so he'd played along. What would be the point, really, in causing them such heartbreak? The deal was irrevocable.

Last night when Bess was sleeping, Garth had gone into the back yard of their house and called Dean's cell phone on his own untraceable cell phone, bought on the black market. Though the deal was done, Garth had needed to make sure.

Dean had answered, and Garth didn't speak, knowing Dean would recognize his voice. But before Dean had hung up, Garth had heard Sam's voice in the background, and he was satisfied. So he'd hung up and tossed the phone into the trash can. That would have to do. Garth didn't want any heroic measures; he was ready to fulfill his end of the bargain now that he knew his friends were OK.

A man appeared before them now, a tall, dark-haired man with black eyes. Bess and Garth got up and dusted themselves off. If they were going, they were going with as much dignity as possible.

Frank stared at the pair in disgust. Werewolves! He'd hunted and brought down many of their kind in his former life and this was right up his alley. He'd killed many humans lately and though most of them had been lowlifes, barely worth his time, these kills were going to be extra satisfying.

He approached the pair, drawing out his silver bayonet. Crowley had quite the arsenal, Frank had to admit. Every tool there was for the torture and killing of living beings. As these two were Werewolves, Frank had of course brought this special silver blade for the occasion.

Bess stepped forward bravely. She did not want to watch her husband die.

"Take me first," she said to Frank.

He was disappointed, really. She was making things way too easy. Truth be told, not many he had killed recently had put up much of a fight, and the Hunter in him needed a challenge.

He lowered the blade and said," Tell you what. I'll give you both a 5-minute head start."

Garth and Bess looked at each other but did not move.

Frank rolled his eyes. Dumb animals. "Go!" he exclaimed, pointing his finger to the woods behind them.

The couple looked at Frank, then looked at each other again. Bess's eyes were wide. Should they try to make a run for it? Was this a chance to get away, to survive?

But Garth shook his head sadly. "He's just playing with us, honeybun."

He stepped up to Frank then. "I'm not a toy, I'm a man," Garth said.

Frank scoffed. "No, you're a monster. And now you're a dead one." He beheaded Garth with one sweep of the bayonet, then stabbed the body a few times just for good measure.

Bess screamed and fell to her knees. Frank gripped the bayonet like a baseball bat and then beheaded her too.

He stood there under the moon, breathing heavily, their blood dripping from his blade. What a shame. But the job was done. When he gave Crowley his status report, Frank would have to ask the King for an increase in job responsibilities. He really needed more of a challenge.

CHUCK, 1.6

It was Friday afternoon, nearly the end of the work week, and God had one more file to close before locking up for the weekend. TGIF, as the saying went. God didn't mind humans using that phrase. He much preferred His name to be invoked in that joyous manner than to justify killing and other atrocities.

He sat behind His desk, waiting for His visitor to arrive.

Chuck came back to his office from a late lunch break. Angels did not eat, but as most of them worked in an office environment, many observed the social convention of taking breaks from their work to interact with each other and hear the news of the day. Chuck had been bombarded with questions: Was there any word about Metatron? What of Castiel?

For a time, he had soaked up all the attention: then the questioning started to get on his nerves. Chuck had no idea what was going on. This would have been a frustrating condition for anyone in his position, but for a Prophet who had traditionally been able to forsee future events, it was unbearable. God had already leeched most of Chuck's clairvoyant ability from him and put it into the manuscript that Castiel had burned, as a punishment for Chuck's past and future misdeeds. When Castiel had burned the papers, thereby erasing his own ability to see events in the future, he'd unknowlingly destroyed Chuck's ability as well. God was big on poetic justice.

Chuck did not know about that, of course. He'd been wondering why his productivity was down, but attributed it to being preoccupied about the situation with Metatron. And just where WAS Metatron, anyway? What was going on? He'd tried sending messages to his co-conspirator on their secret frequency, but to no avail. Had he succeeded? Surely if Metatron had killed Castiel, the news would have spread through Heaven like wildfire.

So preoccupied, Chuck didn't notice the new nameplate outside his office door. But when he tried to open the door with his key, it remained locked. He tried again. Same result.

Puzzled, Chuck stood back and looked at the door, and in doing so he saw that the nameplate now read: KEVIN TRAN, ONE TRUE PROPHET.

What the hell was this? Was Chuck having a very elaborate dream?

His office door opened suddenly, and Chuck walked inside. He was greeted with the sight of young Kevin, sitting behind Chuck's desk, and in his chair.

"What the hell is going on here?" Chuck asked Kevin.

Kevin smiled briefly and said, "You've been replaced, Chuck. God's orders. I got the call this morning."

Chuck was stunned. How could they do this to him? He'd served faithfully for years, and now he had lost his job and his office to this...kid?

Then, the Voice: "I'd like a word, Chuck."

God was summoning him. This could only mean one thing. God knew about his association with Metatron, and the time had come to pay. Had they really been so arrogant as to think they could plot behind His back? Chuck's first impulse was to run but really, who was he kidding? He just hoped that Metatron had been successful; then at least some good would have come of this. He could almost serve his prison term happily if he knew the Winchesters and Castiel were finally dead.

Chuck gave Kevin one more glare before leaving, but Kevin was not fazed. God had called Kevin into His office earlier to advise Kevin of his promotion and the circumstances behind it, and Kevin held nothing but contempt for Chuck.

So Kevin put his feet up on Chuck's desk and got in the parting shot: "Next time, make an appointment," he said to Chuck, savouring the look on Chuck's face as he left Kevin's office.

Chuck entered God's office, head bent in supplication, but God wasn't buying it. Who did Chuck think he was fooling?

"I suppose you know why I've asked to see you," God said coolly.

There was no percentage in pretending. "Yes, my Father," Chuck replied. But old habits died hard, and he continued, "Can I just explain-"

But God cut him off. He held up His hand. It was trembling with the urge to smite Chuck within an inch of his life. The nerve of him. God knew that even now, Chuck had been trying to weasel out of his responsibility in the matter, had probably been thinking he could put all the blame on Metatron. But his Father was done putting up with Chuck. In a way, he was almost worse than Metatron. At least Metatron had been straight up evil. Chuck was a master of lies and manipulation, and he had corrupted the name of One True Prophet for too long. The irony was almost too much: the word "True" was right in the job title.

"Save it," God said. He was angry, but He was also growing weary. It had been a long and stressful week, and God suddenly decided He didn't want to deal with Chuck right now.

"Report to my office first thing Monday morning," God said sternly.

Chuck stood still, confused. That was it? What did God have in store for him?

"Dismissed," God said curtly.

Chuck moved then, figuring he'd better not push his luck. Maybe God would cool off over the weekend and his punishment would be less severe. On the other hand, his Father would have all weekend to think about Chuck's betrayal and perhaps grow angrier and angrier. The suspense was already killing him. Which, of course, was the point.

As Chuck closed the door behind him, he could have sworn he heard God mutter, "TGIF."

CASTIEL AND GAIL, 1.2

While Sam and Dean slept, Gail broke out the deck of cards she'd been keeping in her overnight bag for just such an occasion and she taught Castiel some simple card games. They played cards and talked for a while. The conversation was light and easy. After they'd agreed to let go of the past, it was as if a giant weight had been lifted off both of their shoulders. Castiel in particular blossomed once he'd let go of the burden of his guilt, displaying a wry sense of humour that Gail never knew he had.

Then, when they'd grown tired of card playing, Castiel turned on the motel TV. He had been fascinated by the variety of images on television ever since making the Winchesters' acquaintance, and could contentedly spend hours staring in wonder at the screen. Gail was a little more blase about the TV experience, having spent most of her life as a human and therefore taking it for granted. But they did have all night to kill, and she enjoyed watching TV through Castiel's eyes. Every program and every image seemed to mesmerize him.

So he moved to one of the beds now with the remote, removed his shoes, and sat up to watch. After a moment, Gail packed up the cards and walked over to the other bed. She was about to sit down when an impulse overtook her and she climbed onto the bed where Castiel was and lay down with her head on his chest. After a second's surprise, Cas wrapped his arms around her and they watched TV like that until the morning, when the Winchesters knocked on their door.

The quartet went to a diner near the motel after having checked out, where Sam and Dean ate breakfast. Gail still felt a little strange just sitting there with nothing in front of her, so she usually ordered coffees for Castiel and herself. At first, she had tried to sip from her cup, but found that the liquid had almost too many flavours, so many it was overwhelming. So she no longer bothered to sip, but inexplicably still ordered them. Castiel remembered how much he had enjoyed the simple pleasure of a hot cup of coffee when he'd been human, so he understood and found the habit endearing.

Once they were done at the diner, Dean drove towards the highway, speeding up as he went. He'd never been so glad to see a city in the rearview mirror in his life. Everything that had happened to them in Dallas had been crap, with the exception of the deaths of Metatron and Aurielle.

But as they were leaving the city limits, a strange and wonderful thing happened: all of the church bells in the city of Dallas began to chime at once. God had waved his little finger in Heaven and sent this serenade to His favourite children in celebration of the completion of their mission. He had also wanted their last memory of the city to be a sweet and sentimental one. It was His way of thanking them for their heroism, and conveyed His approval of the strengthened bond between His Angels.

Castiel smiled. He turned to Gail and said, "They're playing our song." He took her hand and continued to hold on until the sound of the bells faded away.

Dean drove all day, only stopping once for a coffee refill and a bathroom break for himself and Sam. He was eager to get back to the bunker; after all, it was the Winchesters' home.

But the respite would be short-lived, he knew. They still had Crowley to deal with, and a rescue operation to plan.

When the four of them arrived back at the bunker, Sam and Dean threw their bags into their rooms and immediately came back out. Gail hadn't said anything, wanting to give the brothers a bit of a break, but she was happy to hear Dean say, "OK, let's figure out what we're gonna do about Crowley."

They sat around the table, brainstorming, much as they had done not that long ago when Gail had been a human and her brother Frank had been dead. How strange her life was, Gail thought wryly. Now she was an Angel, and Frank was apparently alive, held captive by the King of Hell.

Back then, Dean would have just called Crowley on the phone and demanded a meeting. But no longer. Their strange relationship had gone on way too long for his liking, and there was no way he was going to give the little bastard a heads-up. But the problem was this: how were they going to find him?

Sam suggested the tried-and-true method of summoning a Demon; they would go to the nearest crossroads and entrap whoever showed up, torturing them until they revealed the location of the den.

That seemed to be the most straightforward way to go about it. There was no guarantee that the Demon who showed up would crack, of course, but at least it was a start.

Gail was excited, optimistic that this plan would work. She had seen the men in action before; the Demon they had questioned in Sioux Falls had been only too glad to tell them what they wanted to know after Dean and Castiel had gone to work on him. Back then, she had been shocked at their brutality. How things had changed. Now that her brother's life was at stake, Gail was eager to get started. Whatever her friends had to do to the Demon to get information was just fine with her.

By then it was getting late again, and Sam yawned in spite of himself. As anxious as Gail was to rescue her brother, she remembered what it was like when you got home from an extended road trip. One more good night's sleep would probably do the Winchesters a world of good.

Sam yawned again, apologizing. "Don't worry about it," Gail said, smiling at him. "I remember what it's like."

"Do you miss sleeping?" Sam asked her.

Gail thought for a minute. "You know what?" she said, "I used to." Then she looked directly at Castiel, smiling at him. "Now that I have such good company, I don't, really."

Cas smiled back at Gail. Dean caught the look between them and couldn't resist asking, "So what do you do all night when you're not sleeping?"

Sam grinned at the innuendo, thinking it would be lost on Cas.

But Cas surprised him when he said primly, "I don't kiss and tell."

Gail laughed. "Neither do I," she said. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Dean."

But Dean wouldn't let it go. These two had been cagey for too long, and a part of him really wanted to know. "OK, what did you crazy kids do last night while Sam and I were asleep? And don't say 'nothing', because I don't believe you."

"We cuddled, Dean," Cas said. "That's what you call it, right?" He looked to Gail for confirmation.

Knowing it would drive Dean nuts, she said, "Yeah. We cuddled. Right." Castiel looked back at Dean and gestured with his hands as if to say There, you see? But the inflection Gail had purposely used in agreeing with Cas was lost on him; she was having a little fun at Dean's expense.

"You cuddled," Dean repeated, shaking his head. Then he looked at Sam. "They cuddled, Sammy."

Sam was grinning. "Apparently," he said.

Gail was enjoying this. "If you really want to know what we do all night, I'll tell you, Dean," she said.

He raised his eyebrows.

"Do you really want to know?" Gail teased.

Dean paused. Did he? He took the bait. "Yeah, I really want to know."

"You can read all about it on my website, .com," Gail retorted, smiling.

They all laughed, even Dean. He could appreciate a good zinger, even at his own expense.

And on that note, the brothers retired for the evening, still chuckling as they went off to their rooms.

Gail looked after them fondly, glad they were all able to share a laugh. It would be quite a while until they were able to laugh again.

CROWLEY, 1.8

Crowley was making one of his intermittent visits to Hell, just to check up on the operations there. He would drop in once in a while to make sure his orders were being followed and everything was running smoothly. The visits were inconsistent and always without warning, so his staff were constantly on their toes.

In his previous incarnation, Crowley's trips to Hell had dropped off dramatically towards the end. The more human traits and emotions he'd acquired, the less he'd wanted to do with Hell and its denizens. Sensing this, his staff had slacked off and things had begun to slide. Then he had been killed by Castiel, and anarchy had reigned.

But a new and improved Crowley was back, and he was determined to tighten up the operation. He had demoted some of the staff, and the worst and laziest workers? Well, let's just say that in Hell, "heads will roll" wasn't just an expression.

The newly replaced intake staff were trying to keep up with the new arrivals, but the files were stacked to the ceiling and they were doing the best they could. As more souls joined the end of the line, the ones in the front shuffled towards the front desk to receive their assignments. The receptionist would pull the individual's file and direct an escort to take the hapless soul to a particular wing and room. This was all based on a system that Hell's actuaries had designed, and there were a lot of them down there. It was a logical system. The individual's personality and misdeeds in life were fed into a computer and out popped the name of the wing they were to be sent to. The specific room was determined by the level of heinousness of the acts the person had committed while on Earth.

Crowley had signed off on this system, but as the King, he had absolute veto power, of course. When Dean had come to Hell, he had been supposed to go elsewhere, but he'd pissed off Crowley so many times that Crowley himself had escorted Dean to the torture room. That had been a shining moment.

But as Crowley watched the process now, he was not pleased. Things were taking way too long. There were souls to be taken and suffering to be done, and this was taking, well, forever. He ordered more receptionists and more escorts to the area, and the line began to move faster. He sighed. Incompetents. His kingdom for a sorting hat, he thought.

As Crowley walked down the hallway, he glanced at the individuals waiting in line. Most would be garden-variety, low level Demons, a few only receiving a promotion to topside if one of their number was killed. But today, tomorrow, 500 years from now, it didn't really matter. Hell was eternal.

There was one man in the line that looked familiar to Crowley, but his face was half-turned towards the wall. Crowley stopped short, staring at the man.

"Metatron?" Crowley asked.

The man turned slowly and fixed Crowley with a level gaze. "Cain," he said, by way of a greeting.

Crowley's eyes blazed. "It's Crowley," he snapped. As one of God's Originals, Metatron was one of very few who knew of Crowley's true first identity, and Crowley wanted to keep it that way.

So, God had sent his Scribe down here. It was the ultimate punishment and the ultimate humiliation for an Angel, let alone an Original. The only precedent had been Lucifer himself.

Crowley smirked at Metatron. "So...God has sent his Scribe to Hell for an eternal time-out." Metatron glared at him but said nothing.

For a brief second, Crowley considered bringing Metatron up to Earth with him for the battle ahead with the Winchesters and Castiel over possession of Gail.

"What happened to you?" Crowley sneered, taunting Metatron. "How were you able to let three humans and Castiel get the jump on you?"

"Three humans?" Metatron echoed, puzzled.

"Dean, Sam, and Gail," Crowley snapped, irritated. Metatron was supposed to be intelligent.

But it was Crowley who felt stupid when Metatron laughed briefly and said, "Gail? It was the Angel Gail who killed me."

Crowley's head reeled from the shock. The Angel Gail? How had that happened? And how did he not know about this?

He would have to go somewhere and think about it. This changed everything. Or did it?

Crowley reconsidered his earlier thought to bring Metatron back to Earth. He still might at some point, but Crowley had to revise the business plan first. If Gail was an Angel now, clearly making her into a Knight of Hell was no longer an option. But was that such a bad thing? He had her brother now. Did he even care?

So he left Metatron where he was in line. Screw him. If Crowley wanted his services, he could be summoned. For now, he could burn.

There was one more stop Crowley had planned to make in Hell, so he went there now, his thoughts racing.

Crowley went to the kennel to check on his newest arrivals.

Garth and Bess were being kept in a cage, apart from the other Hellhounds for now until they were trained and could be fully integrated with the pack. They were in full Werewolf form now and would never be human again.

Garth growled and bared his teeth at Crowley as the latter approached the cage. Even though he could no longer speak, Garth had all of his memories intact and even though he was bound to serve Crowley, that didn't mean he had to like him.

The Demon trainers threw fresh human organs into the cage and Bess and Garth fell on them, eating hungrily, blood dripping from their faces.

"Good doggies," Crowley said sarcastically. He turned to leave, then turned back to look at Garth one more time. "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. I'll be seeing Sam and Dean Winchester again very soon, and I'll give them your regards. Right before I kill them."

Crowley exited, smiling, as Garth hung his head and Bess howled. When you made a deal with the Devil, he always screwed you in the end.

FRANK, 1.4

Odette got out of bed and dressed quickly. Being in bed with Frank always felt good at the time, but after the sex was over she felt dirty, used. Of course, that came with the job description when you were one of Crowley's whores.

When Frank had returned from killing the Werewolves, he'd been in a foul mood. He'd made his report to Crowley as per usual, but the King could tell that something was off. When he asked Frank what was going on, his Knight told him. He needed more challenging work. He used to be a Hunter; now he was just a butcher. Surely there were lesser-ranked Demons Crowley could send if he just wanted someone stabbed to death. Frank missed the thrill of the chase; that was what made the eventual kill so satisfying.

Crowley frowned. He would not have stood for this insubordination from anyone else.

"Relax," he had told Frank. "Have another drink. You'll be getting a plum assignment very soon, I'm just working on the details."

Frank took another drink, but he still seemed edgy, restless. Crowley continued to regard him coolly. Favourite Demon or no, if Frank did not stop fidgeting soon, Crowley was going to have to grab a blade and run him through. No one had ever talked to him as Frank had; though he'd been patient with his Knight owing to Frank's stellar skills, the King's word was to be accepted.

Frank saw Crowley looking at him and he smirked. "Maybe I just need to get laid. It's been a while."

Crowley could relate. He smiled. That was something he could help with.

So Crowley had sent Odette to Frank's room that night, and she had been making nightly visits ever since. Crowley owned her, so she had no choice. Frank was good-looking enough, but he was arrogant, and rough in the sack. Her body was covered in bruises now, and she grimaced as she dressed.

Frank was still laying in bed, but his eyes were closed and he was ignoring her. She had served her purpose, and as far as he was concerned, she was already gone.

Odette glared at him as she left. If he sent for her tomorrow night she would be back, but until then, her time was her own. She had nothing but time; too much time to think about who she was and what she'd become. Too bad she'd never bothered to do this kind of self-evaluation in life; if she had, maybe she could have chosen a different path and not ended up here in Crowley's stable. But here she was, forced to offer her body to brutal Demons like Frank. Maybe she'd come back here tomorrow. Maybe she'd just kill herself instead.

A knock on Frank's door roused him from a doze. Like Angels, Demons didn't sleep per se, but were known to doze after vigorous sex or one too many drinks.

He was annoyed. Was it Odette coming back, having forgotten a piece of clothing? Not that she'd been wearing much to begin with.

"What?" he snapped, pulling on his shorts.

The door cracked open and a moment later, Rowena entered.

"Sorry to disturb you, dearie," she said, closing the door behind her as she sauntered into the room. "I wonder if we might have a wee chat."

Frank looked her in the eyes. He didn't like this woman. She acted sweet as pie around him, but there was something off about her. He could tell that she and Crowley had a weird mother-son relationship. Dr. Phil would have called it a "dysfunctional dynamic". It seemed to work for them in a way, but Frank could feel the hostility emanating from each of them when talking to the other.

Frank had gone from hating Crowley to tolerating him to grudgingly respecting him all in a relatively short time, and he wanted to tell the King that this woman was bad news but he couldn't think how. Crowley seemed to have a blind spot when it came to his mother. Or maybe, being the master strategist that he was, Crowley was just biding his time, waiting for the right moment to put her down. Like many Demons before him, Frank would be only too happy to assist the Boss if it came to that. The woman was an evil bitch.

"Well?" he prompted when Rowena didn't speak.

She frowned. Her usual fake sweetness wasn't going to cut it with this one. Her son had truly crafted him into a monster. But he was only a Knight, and her son was the King. Frank would do well to remember that.

"My son, the King," she emphasized, as she always did when she wanted to remind underlings of their position when compared with hers, "will be back from Hell soon and I wanted to talk to you alone, before he returns."

Frank said nothing, waiting for her to continue. What was she playing at?

Rowena continued, "I've noticed that you and my son, the King," it took all the self-control that he had not to roll his eyes, "have a...special relationship. I would hate to see something come between you."

Frank raised his eyebrows. "Like what?" he sneered. Oh, there was something that wanted to come between them all right, and he was looking at it.

"You may not know my son as well as you think you do," Rowena said enigmatically.

"Spit it out," Frank snapped. "This cryptic b.s. doesn't work for me. Just say what you came to say and get out."

Rowena stared at Frank, wanting to rake her fingernails down his face. Once she had Gail back, despite how her son felt about the subject, Rowena would concoct a spell for Frank that would make the Black Death seem like the sniffles. But until Gail was back and entirely on board, she supposed they needed Frank, like it or not.

And to think, she had actually come here to clue Frank in. Rowena had thought that if she told Frank about his sister's and Crowley's recent history, any residue of caring Frank may have had for Gail would serve to turn him against her son. But she thought better of it now. Seeing Frank's attitude, she could sense that he would not be moved or swayed. Who knew if he even cared what had happened to his sister? And Frank's allegiance was clearly to his King. Anything more Rowena ventured to say would border on treason.

So she said sarcastically, "I have nothing to say, I suppose. I wouldn't want to waste your time with any cryptic - what did you call it? - 'b.s.'"

Then she turned tail and flounced out of his room, leaving Frank to wonder just what in the hell that had been all about.

DEAN AND SAM, 1.4

Sam had been lying in bed, still half-asleep, when it hit him. The thought was so basic, so obvious, that he groaned aloud. He must have been more tired than he'd realized yesterday.

He got up and threw on some clothes, then went down the hall and knocked on Dean's door. "Dean!"

"What?" Dean yelled from inside.

Sam opened the door and walked into Dean's room. His brother was sitting up in bed, holding the covers up to his neck.

Sam smirked. "Really?" he said. "Unless you're hiding someone under there, why the sudden modesty?"

"I don't know," Dean replied grumpily. "Gail might have been with you."

Now Sam was really amused. "She's seen you with your shirt off before," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but she's an Angel now, and..." Dean trailed off, realizing how lame he sounded. He looked at Sam's smiling face. "Shut up."

Sam was tempted to add that as Angels, both Cas and Gail could technically be watching over Dean at any time, but then he realized the same thing would apply to him too, and he stopped smiling.

Dean threw on a shirt and pants. "What's up?"

"I just thought of something," Sam said. "We're pretty sure Frank's alive, but we don't know a hundred percent, right?"

Dean looked at him sharply. That was true, but the brothers hadn't mentioned their doubts to Gail.

"We've gotta check out his grave," Sam continued.

Dean nearly slapped himself on the forehead. How could he have been so stupid? Of course, they should have checked Frank's grave first thing. What they would find might not be conclusive, but it was a place to start.

Gail had the coffee on when the brothers emerged from the hallway.

"Morning," she said.

Dean looked around. "Where's Cas?" he asked her.

"He said he was going outside for a breath of fresh air," Gail answered him.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. They were willing to bet he had beaten them to it.

Gail noticed the look they gave each other. "What?" she asked.

Sam sighed. "We need to check out Frank's grave," he said as delicately as he could. "To see if it's been...disturbed."

Of course, Gail thought. She also felt stupid for not having thought of it. They were investigators of the supernatural, and it didn't get any more supernatural than someone who had been dead and buried possibly being alive again.

"Let's go," she said, moving towards the stairs that led out of the bunker.

Dean caught her arm. "Why don't you just stay here while we go look?"

"No, Dean, I can't. I appreciate you trying to spare me, but I have to know, I have to see," Gail said.

So they all went outside and out back, to the spot where Sam and Dean had buried Frank. Sure enough, Castiel was already there, looking down at the spot.

Castiel felt them approach. "The ground's been disturbed," he said.

They all looked down. The hole the brothers had dug was still filled with dirt, but the space looked different, wrong somehow, as if the hole had been re-dug and re-filled hastily.

"I'll get the shovels," Sam said, and walked back to the bunker.

Castiel looked at Gail, who was staring down at the gravesite. Tears prickled in her eyes. She hadn't been here since the day the Winchesters had buried Frank. Why hadn't she been here?

Castiel walked over to where she stood and took her in his arms. She hugged him gratefully, glad of the comfort.

Sam brought out three shovels and each man grabbed one and started digging. The grave had not been very deep, and when one of the brothers got down to the tarp they had rolled Frank's body in to bury it, they climbed back out of the grave.

"Go inside, Gail," Castiel said to her. She looked at him. "Please," he added.

She shook her head. "No, I need to see," she insisted. She touched his cheek to wipe away a smudge of dirt there, and to show her appreciation for his consideration.

"Are you OK, Gail?" Sam said.

She took a shaky breath. "Not really. Let's get this over with."

Sam and Dean jumped back into the hole and unrolled the tarp. Frank's body was gone.

There was something small and white inside the tarp instead. Cas and Gail peered down as Dean picked it up and unfolded it. A note of some kind?

Dean read the note and passed it to Sam, who read it too. He stuck it in his pocket and the brothers climbed back out of the grave.

Dean picked up one of the shovels they'd been using and heaved it as far as he could, yelling curse words at the top of his lungs.

"What does it say?" Gail walked up to Sam. She still couldn't believe what she'd seen. Frank's body was gone!

Sam's brow furrowed but he said nothing. How could he tell her?

"Sam! What does it say?" she was shouting now, dread eating away at her stomach.

He took the note out of his pocket and read it out loud:

"By the time you read this, Frank will be in my employ, in his new position as a Knight of Hell. Call me and we'll set up a meeting. Crowley."

Gail looked up at Sam in horror as Castiel snatched the note from Sam's hand and looked at it.

"No...It can't be..." Gail said, clutching at Sam. He took her in his arms and looked at Castiel helplessly.

Cas crumpled the note in his fist and swore, using the same words as Dean had a moment ago. Sam had never heard him say those words before and would have been amused and a little impressed under other circumstances.

But as it was, this was no laughing matter. What were they going to do now?

They were back in the bunker and Dean was pacing, trying to work off some of his rage at Crowley, and at himself. Killing was too good for the son of a bitch. If Crowley was telling the truth, something he didn't doubt for a minute, Frank was done. He was toast. There was no coming back from that. Even if they tried the cure on him as they'd done with Gail, Frank's soul was damned, like Gail thought hers had been. Dean knew that the Knights' only function was to take as many souls as possible for Hell. So that was it. By not killing Crowley as they should have done, he and Sam might as well have killed Frank themselves. But Crowley should be dead. Castiel had killed him. What the hell was going on here?

He stopped pacing suddenly. There might be a way, but it was crazy, and it was suicide.

Sam was looking at Dean strangely, and when Dean stopped pacing, Sam somehow knew what he was thinking.

"No, Dean, no way," Sam protested, as if Dean had spoken out loud.

Castiel looked up sharply. He was sitting at the table beside Gail, who'd sunk into one of the chairs as soon as they'd come inside as if she couldn't trust her legs to hold her up. Cas had tried to comfort Gail but she sat stiffly in her chair, too shocked to move or even to acknowledge him.

"What?" Cas asked the brothers. They seemed to be communicating telepathically, and he needed to find out what they were thinking.

"We go to the Crossraods," Dean said. "Make a deal."

Gail looked up then, her state of shock broken. "Go on," she said.

But Gail had no idea what Dean had been thinking. She had never made a crossroads deal. But Sam had, and he said, "No, Dean."

"I have to, Sammy," Dean said. "I'm the only one who can replace Frank. I'm the only one Crowley will take."

Sam should have been strangely hurt by that, but he knew it was true. Out of the two brothers, Crowley would prefer Dean. An eye for an eye. A Hunter for a Hunter. But there was no way Sam was ever going to allow it. Frank may be Gail's brother, but Dean was Sam's, and he was not going to let him do this.

"What's he talking about?" Gail asked Castiel.

"Dean's proposing a trade," Castiel said in a careful tone. "His soul for Frank's."

"Straight up," Dean said.

"THAT'S what you're thinking?" Gail asked Dean. He nodded.

She looked at Castiel. "What do you think about this?"

Castiel looked at her, troubled. What could he possibly think? What could he say? If he said he thought Dean should do it, they'd lose Dean. If he vetoed the idea, they were forfeiting their only chance to get Frank back. If it could even be done. Did Crowley have the power to grant such a request? If anyone did, he would, but what Dean was proposing was unprecedented. Could Cas live with himself if he allowed Dean to give himself up like that? And could he live with himself if he told Gail she had to let her brother go?

Gail got up from her chair and walked over to Dean. She stared into his eyes for a moment and then slapped him hard across the face.

Dean's head rocked back and he grabbed his burning cheek with his hand. "What the hell!?" he asked her, confused.

"How can you even think of doing that?" Gail yelled at him. "Don't ever say anything like that again!" And now the tears were starting to come again but Gail fought them off, wanting to finish. She pointed her finger at Dean, facing him. "And if I hear anything else about it from you-" she pointed at Sam and Cas in turn "-or any of you - ever again, I will walk right out of here and never come back."

Dean started to speak but she cut him off. "Dean, you're like a brother to me. I couldn't possibly trade one brother for another, any more than Sam could let you go. If what Crowley says is true, Frank should have just stayed dead. There's no redemption for that. We have to end it. We have to let him rest in peace."

The tears now fell from her eyes as she looked up at Dean's face. She could see the red mark on his face where she'd slapped him. She regretted it now, but she'd just been so angry. And scared too, scared he would just go ahead and make the deal without them. And she meant what she'd said. There was no way.

Gail put her hand gently on Dean's cheek. "I'm sorry, Dean," she said, blinking her eyes. No more tears. She'd cried more in the past few days than she had cried in all the years before, and she was sick of it. Enough.

He hugged her then, saying, "I'm sorry too, Gail."

"We'll find a way, Gail," Sam said in a subdued voice. He wanted to help her, more now than ever. He owed her a huge debt of gratitude. He would have stood here and argued with Dean for hours and the stubborn son of a bitch still would have done it. With a few well-chosen words and one smack, Gail had gotten Dean to stand down.

Gail wheeled on Sam, reacting to what he'd said. "No, we won't, Sam," she said to him. "Look, I appreciate your intentions, but I let Frank go months ago. He's gone, and - whatever is in his body isn't my brother. It's a Demon, a Knight of Hell, and we have to get rid of it."

"But-" Sam tried again, unwilling to let it go.

She turned to Castiel. "Am I right?"

He hated to do it, but he nodded. "Gail's right, Sam. It's not her brother. It's an abomination."

Gail crossed over to where Castiel sat, smoothed back his hair, and planted a kiss on his forehead. "Thank you," she said to him. "Thank you for being honest."

She turned back to Dean. "Make the call, Dean. Please. Before I lose my nerve."

CHUCK, 1.7

Chuck had been stewing over the weekend, stressing out about Monday morning and what God was planning for him. The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. It was cruel to keep him hanging like this. He knew that God could be vengeful when provoked, but this was ridiculous.

He had no remorse; like any sociopath, the only regret Chuck had was that he'd gotten caught. It had been stupid to try to plot behind God's back, but both Chuck and Metatron had thought the risk was worth it. Truth be told, even though God was God, he'd been slipping a bit lately. There were things going on behind His back that Chuck was pretty sure He knew nothing about. Chuck had heard whispered rumours that there were some Angels who were discontented with the way things were being run. God was the Boss, but He sat up in His ivory tower and nobody knew what He was doing half the time. And He clearly played favourites; He'd let Castiel get away with murder, sometimes literally, over the years. Look at all the crap that guy had pulled, and not only was he still standing but he was thriving, with God's full support. Castiel had a plum assignment, getting to roam around on Earth and do whatever he pleased. He had the Winchesters for bros, and he even had a little Angel girlfriend. And Chuck had been stuck behind a desk, churning out prophecies, friendless, unloved, ever since God had yanked him from the Earth. His crime? Just doing his job, writing the Winchester Chronicles as God had instructed. No wonder he was so bitter.

And Metatron had had his own reasons for being resentful of God, and of the way he'd been treated in Heaven. Chuck wasn't privy to all of it, but that hadn't mattered to him. They had common goals, and that had been enough.

OK, it had been kind of dirty pool to take an innocent, dull-as-dishwater clerk like Aurielle and turn her into a torturer and potential killer, but all she'd had to do was refuse. Aurielle had lied to herself as much as Chuck had lied to her, really. She had participated willingly in her own corruption and eventual demise.

Chuck now knew that God must have removed his power to see future events, because he could not even forsee what he was going to do tomorrow, let alone predict anything about anyone.

God had the ability to look into anyone's mind and to read their private thoughts, but He generally did not do it. He believed that people had the right to privacy. If everything they did, said or thought was constantly being scrutinized, people would not be free to be themselves, and that would be a bad thing.

But He made an exception in Chuck's case. He wanted to know if Chuck was showing any remorse, had any regrets about what he'd done. God was still on the fence about what Chuck's punishment should be. On the one hand, he had conspired, lied, and manipulated behind his Father's back, and that could not stand. On the other hand, Chuck had not physically harmed anyone. He was weak, and had been easily influenced by Metatron. God also agreed, to a point, that Aurielle had cooperated in her own destruction. So He was trying to give Chuck a bit of an out. God had human traits too; He had designated Chuck to be the Prophet, and He was reluctant to admit to such a big mistake. How could His judgment have been so wrong?

But when God looked into Chuck's heart and mind, He saw only bitterness and resentment there. Not only did Chuck not have any remorse, but he was making excuses for his behaviour and blaming everyone else. He was beyond redemption.

There was no point waiting until Monday, God decided sadly. God waved his hand and Chuck fell dead on the spot. Minutes later, he was standing on line in Hell, waiting for his new assignment. He certainly hadn't seen THAT coming.

METATRON, 1.11

He had been toiling away in the boiler room for hours now, shovelling coal into the ovens. Shovel upon shovel of coal, back and forth, and who knew why? Maybe this was the epicentre of Hell, where all the Heat originated from.

Someone had once said that Hell was repetition; if so, they must have done this job. Metatron had been assigned to one of the hottest, most mind-numbing jobs in the place. The actuarial studies based individuals' assignments not only on evil acts committed in life, but on each person's worst fears and nightmares, and this had been one of Metatron's. Never-ending manual labour with nothing to occupy his brain, no way to use his intelligence.

He stopped shovelling for a moment to wipe his brow and felt the whip crack an inch from his face. That was the warning; the next lash would land. The rules had been explained when he got here. He sighed and picked up the shovel again.

How was he going to get out of here? He couldn't spend eternity like this; he'd go crazy. Metatron knew that most people thought of him as crazy already, considering all of the bad things he'd done. But he wasn't crazy, he rationalized to himself. Everything he'd done, everything he'd planned had had intelligent thought behind it, a rationale. An endgame. And even though he had been cast down, he did not feel like his story was over.

A few minutes later, Metatron heard the door open behind him and an escort yell, "New recruit!" As the Demon with the whip passed Metatron on his way to the door, Metatron risked a look behind him. Then he did something he never dreamed would be possible to do here: he smiled.

The new recruit was Chuck.

CASTIEL, 1.11

Cas listened as Dean called Crowley to make arrangements for the meeting.

One ring, two, three...Voice Mail. Frigging Voice Mail. That was b.s., Dean thought. He knows it's me. He's just screwing with us.

But, having no choice, he left a message. After considering and rejecting various and profane things to say, Dean simply said, "It's Dean. You have the number." Then he hung up. No more "friendly" banter, no more dancing.

Gail offered Sam and Dean coffee then, needing something to do. Sam took her up on it but Dean did not; he was too tightly strung as it was. She poured herself a cup out of habit and sat it in front of her at the table. Before adding cream to Sam's coffee, she looked down at the colour of coffee in the cup and wondered if that was what Frank's eyes looked like now. Probably.

As Gail was sitting quietly staring at the cups of coffee, Castiel was looking at her. He wished he could take this latest heartbreak from her and put it on his shoulders. Hadn't she had enough? Again, he wondered why God had allowed her to become an Angel but then given her all of this adversity to deal with. He knew that tests were required of Angels from time to time, but she was being given more than her share.

Like Sam, Castiel had admired the way Gail had handled Dean when he'd made his absurd proposal. Her stoic acceptance of the fact that her brother was gone. When she'd appealed to him for the truth, he had given it to her as her due. Castiel had vowed he would never keep her in the dark or lie to her ever again and he meant to keep this promise, even if the truth hurt.

But still, he silently prayed to his Father, asking if there was any way she could be spared the sight of her brother as a Knight of Hell, or at least not to have to watch him being killed by one of her friends. And as usual, he received no answer. It was true that God sometimes worked in mysterious ways, but the Cas in him couldn't help but wish his Father would pick up a phone once in a while. Blasphemy? Probably. But he felt it all the same.

ODETTE, 1.1

When she got the call to come to Frank's room yet again, Odette felt sick to her stomach. Did she really have to go? Of course she did. The hour or so of pain and humiliation she suffered in Frank's bed couldn't compare with the eternity of torture she would have to endure if the King found out she'd refused.

There was a soft knock on Odette's door as she was putting on her makeup and she said, "Come in."

Rowena entered the room and closed the door quietly behind her. She approached Odette at the dressing table and said, "Carry on, dear."

The King's Mother! Odette was wide-eyed. Rowena's tone was soft, but Odette had heard that she was a very powerful witch who wasn't to be messed with. The Demon grapevine was divided on Rowena's relationship with her son: Half thought she and Crowley were close partners, and the other half swore that one of them was going to kill the other any minute now. Odette didn't really care; her lot wasn't going to improve no matter who ruled. But why was Rowena here?

Rowena produced a special dagger from the folds of her gown and Odette looked at it in horror. It was the only kind of knife short of an Angel blade that could kill a Demon. What was Rowena doing with it?

Seeing the look on Odette's face, Rowena lowered the knife. "I'm not here to harm you, dear," she said softly. "I'm here to help you."

"Where did you get that?" Odette breathed.

"What, this old thing?" Rowena said playfully, turning the knife around in her hand, admiring it. "A souvenir from a Hunter I knew, as you young people say, 'back in the day'."

She leaned down closer to Odette. "And I'm here to lend it to you."

BECKY, 1.1

Becky was on break.

Everyone in Hell was granted breaks from their jobs, no matter what they were. Crowley had followed a business model when he'd retooled the operations, and even though Hell was in the business of eternal torment, the King recognized that even the most diligent worker was more productive after a short break. Besides, having had the break made the job feel worse when the hapless soul went back to it. Win-win.

Some jobs in Hell were cushier than others, and Becky was one of the lucky ones. She was one of the receptionists on the receiving line, assigning condemned souls to their jobs. The hours were long and the line was never-ending, but her fate could certainly have been a lot worse, she knew.

Becky drank a cup of coffee out of habit, much like Gail sometimes did. Like Gail, Becky had been a human girl not too long ago and old habits died hard. She supposed she was a Demon now, though she found the idea a little hard to grasp. She had been a wide-eyed and innocent girl in life, hardly the type of person you'd expect to wind up here. She'd made a few questionable decisions on Earth, sure, but who hadn't? Her choices had stemmed from an amazing mix of acceptance and naivete that could only be Becky. Becky. Half sweet, half stalker. A unique combination.

Becky had fallen in love with the fictional character of Sam Winchester ever since she'd picked up the first book Chuck had written. The subject matter had been a little out of her comfort zone at first. Ghosts, vampires, werewolves...she just didn't know. She'd enjoyed the Twilight series mainly due to the romantic aspect, but the Supernatural series of books were a lot gorier and more realistic. Well, if you considered monsters real, of course.

But she'd kept reading. Becky did like the heroes of the story, two brothers who drove across the country saving humans from a wide assortment of supernatural creatures. She enjoyed the parts where they were in the car or in the motel room just talking, teasing each other, being brothers. Becky wished she had a close relationship with her siblings, even just one of them. She was the youngest of five. You'd think with a household that full, Becky would never have lacked for company. But her two sisters had bonded with each other, same with her two brothers, and by the time Becky came along, it felt to her like she was an outsider looking in.

So she'd turned to solitary pursuits, like reading, and by the time Becky was in her teens, she felt that this was it for her. She'd get a boring job that paid just enough to survive, live alone in a small apartment, maybe get a cat. Invisible, unloved, until she died.

But then she discovered the Winchester Chronicles, and Becky became obsessed. She'd fallen in love with the books, and with Sam Winchester. He was the younger brother who was just as brave as Dean but was always overlooked, overshadowed by Dean's larger-than-life personality. Boy, could she relate.

There was an illustration of both brothers on the cover of each book and Becky would stare at the depiction of Sam, imagining him in real life. He was handsome, tall, and well-built. She knew he wasn't real, but Becky was in love with the idea of Sam. If only she could meet someone like him. But all the guys she met were jerks. She began to fantasize about herself with Sam, even tried to write a Supernatural fan fiction story about Sam coming to her rescue from some monster. The two of them would fall in love and she would help him and Dean do their job, as Sam's wife. She could never come between the brothers, but if she could join the team she and Sam would always be together.

This fantasy world sustained Becky as she graduated high school, went to business school for 6 months, and got a job as a receptionist at an advertising company. Most girls her age were dating and going to clubs, but Becky stayed at home in her small apartment, reading and re-reading the Supernatural books, writing her stories, and imagining a life with Sam.

Then an amazing thing happened. Becky had saved up enough to buy a computer, and when she Googled "Sam Winchester" just for fun, she discovered a world she never knew existed. There were thousands of people out there from all over the world who were almost as obsessed as she was with the Winchester Chronicles. There were websites dedicated to the brothers, and separate ones for fan fiction as well. There were Dean Girls and Sam Girls. Becky was excited that there were so many people who seemed to feel like she did about the series of books, but she felt inexplicably jealous of the Sam Girls. She had enough of a grip on reality to realize how dumb it was to be jealous over a fictional character, but she felt it all the same. No one could ever love Sam the way she did. Those girls were all wanna-bes.

Becky also saw a notice for an upcoming event: the author of the Supernatural book series was actually coming to her home town! He was doing a lecture and book-signing tour in the midwest, and he was scheduled to appear this Saturday at her local bookstore! How had she not known about this? God bless the Internet.

So she'd dressed up, did her hair, and put on makeup for the first time in forever, and Becky was first in line when the bookstore opened. She got Chuck to sign his most recent book, and listened with rapt attention to his talk about what had inspired him to write the series. He took a few questions afterward [her upraised hand was ignored; not surprising when you were invisible, she thought] and then it was over.

But that hadn't been enough for Becky, and she hovered over Chuck as he packed up and the crowd dispersed. As she gathered up the courage to approach him directly, Chuck looked up.

"Hi," he said. Chuck had noticed her circling around. She was looking at him with awe and admiration, a look he wasn't used to. Chuck was just a guy, an average-looking one at best, and he wasn't used to female attention. Sure, now that he'd had the prophecies published, he was a bit of a hero in certain circles, he supposed. But it was the stories people liked, and it was Sam and Dean the girls fantasized about. Always Dean and Sam, Sam and Dean, never him. He was just the conduit, and once he'd finished talking about the Winchesters, people lost interest in him.

But this one was kind of cute, and she was still here.

"Hi," Becky replied shyly. OK, she had his attention now, but of course, she couldn't think of anything to say. Say something, Becky! He's going to walk away any second now.

"I love your books," she said. Wow. How lame was that? She could kick herself.

But he smiled and said, "Thank you."

She found the courage to approach him and to say," I'm Becky." She extended her hand, wanting to shake the hand of the man whose hand had created Sam, her one true love.

Chuck took her hand. "Chuck."

"I was at your talk, I thought it was brilliant," Becky gushed. "I had a question, but you ran out of time, I guess."

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Chuck thought. So he went for it: "Would you like to get a cup of coffee?" he said.

Becky almost looked behind her. Was he talking to her? She couldn't believe it.

"Me?" she asked. Chuck smiled and nodded. "Yes. If you want," he added. It was a case of the socially awkward meeting the socially awkward.

So they went, and had a long conversation about themselves and Chuck's books. Becky was careful to play it cool. She didn't want Chuck to think she was some kind of weirdo. She told him she appreciated his books from a literary standpoint, the juxtaposition of good vs. evil played out in the landscape of modern-day America.

Chuck thought this was a bit too intellectual for what was essentially pulp fiction, but he was flattered nonetheless. After coffee, they went for dinner, and after dinner over more coffee, Chuck's ego was over the moon. Feeling so expansive, he decided to let Becky in on the secret. Well, at least part of it, anyway.

"You know," Chuck leaned in across the table, lowering his voice, "the books are based on real-life events."

She was bemused. What, was his aunt's house haunted, or something? She was not prepared for what he said next:

"Sam and Dean Winchester are real," Chuck confided, "and those are their stories."

Becky looked at him for a moment, transfixed. Then she burst out laughing.

"You really had me going there for a minute," she said to Chuck.

Chuck was annoyed. The first girl he had ever liked enough to open up to, and she didn't even believe him.

"It's true," he insisted. "I've never told anyone this before, but you're the first girl I've liked enough to trust with the truth."

Becky looked at him intently. Chuck looked so earnest and sincere. She wanted to believe him, she really did. Imagine if Sam Winchester was real. Sigh. Was Chuck nuts, thinking he had created something so vibrant that it was actually alive? Or was she nuts, wanting to believe him so badly?

She timidly reached across the table and put her hand on his, patting it. "I know, they're so real to me, too," Becky said. "That's the beauty of imagination."

Now Chuck began to get angry. She was patronizing him!

"I'll show you," he said, throwing money down on the table. "Get your coat."

There was no implicit rule that Chuck knew of that stated he couldn't take Becky to meet the real Winchester brothers, he rationalized to himself. Still, if he wasn't breaking the 3rd wall, he was stretching it to its limits.

He drove Becky to the motel and knocked on the door of the brothers' room.

Becky wondered what they were doing here. Everything she had ever been taught screamed at her not to get in the car with Chuck, and certainly not to allow him to bring her to a cheap motel. What the hell was the matter with her? This was the way she was going to die, raped and murdered by a writer slash serial killer, and she had only herself to blame if that was the way it turned out. But this was the man who had created her dear Sam, and if there was even a hint of a chance that Sam Winchester actually did exist, she had to find out.

Sam opened the door to Chcuk's knock and said, "Hey, Chuck, what are you doing here?"

Becky looked up at him in amazement. So tall, so handsome. Pretty much like she'd always pictured in her feverish fantasies.

Dean was standing behind Sam. "Hey, Chuck," he said. "What's up?"

Becky glanced at Dean, but only had eyes for Sam as he moved aside to let her and Chuck in. Were these two men actors Chuck had hired in an elaborate scheme to trick a willing young girl such as herself to a motel room? She clutched her purse, wondering if there was anything in it she could use as a weapon.

But then Chuck was introducing her to the Winchesters and when Sam took her hand in greeting, Becky was convinced. This was her Sam, he was real, and nothing else mattered.

The brothers were a little confused as to why Chuck had brought this girl here, but they were hospitable enough. They offered Chuck and Becky a beer. Becky hated the taste of beer, but Sam was having one, so she supposed she should acquire the taste. If she was going to be Sam's girlfriend, she needed to do what he did and like what he liked. And she was sooo going to be Sam's girlfriend.

So Becky dated Chuck for a while, stalking Sam through him, and when Chuck started tentatively to initiate the physical contact that usually came with dating someone for a while, she cut Chuck loose. By then, she'd gathered enough information about Sam to be able to track him on her own. She liked Chuck okay, but she was saving herself for Sam.

Chuck had been hurt and angry when Becky had broken up with him, and she did feel kind of bad for the guy. After all, he had brought her to Sam in the first place. But Becky couldn't help the way she felt, and Chuck would just have to accept it.

But Chuck didn't want to accept it. Becky was a duplicitous bitch. He thought she'd liked him, and it turned out she was only using him to get to Sam. That figured. It was always the Winchester brothers with these chicks.

That had been the start of Chuck's hatred towards the Winchesters, and by the time God called him up to Heaven, Chuck was only too glad to go.

Becky had started her campaign to win Sam by sending him emails and texts, asking how he was doing, trying to be witty and alluring. He had answered her back a couple of times, just to be nice, but this only encouraged Becky and the barrage continued.

"You're gonna have to do something about this, Sammy," Dean said to him after Sam's cell phone went off with yet another notification. "The chick's a stalker."

Sam had to agree. So he texted Becky, asking to meet her for coffee. She seemed like a sweet girl and he wanted to let her down easy.

Becky had been so excited when she received Sam's text! She had gotten through to him, and now they were going on their first date. She tried on many outfits and was ready to go about an hour before the time he'd said to meet. This was it!

She was already at the coffee shop when Sam walked in. He came straight to her table and sat down.

"Hi, Sam, how are you?" Becky said, sitting up straighter in her chair.

"Fine." Silence for a minute. Then he said, "Look, Becky, I have to talk to you."

She waited, holding her breath.

Sam continued, "Becky, you seem like a really nice girl..."he trailed off, trying to find the right words.

Her heart sank. She'd heard these words often enough in movies to know that the sentence never ended well.

"...But?" she said, her eyes welling up with tears.

Sam was dismayed; Becky looked like she was going to start crying. He was sorry to upset her, but he also knew he had to nip this in the bud before things got out of hand.

"But...you know the kind of life that Dean and I lead," he said, still trying to be kind. "It's too dangerous for me to be...involved...with anyone. I'm sure you understand."

Sam was trying to spare Becky's feelings, but she could not let go. Here he was, sitting across the table from her, close enough to touch. She had loved him for so long, even before she knew that he was real. If he walked out of here now, she would probably never see him again. She had to go all in.

"But Sam, I love you!" she blurted out. "We could make it work!"

Crap, Sam thought. Dean had been right. "The girl lives in Crazy Town," Dean had said. "You'd better be brutal or you're going to be stuck with her for the rest of your life."

"How could you love me?" Sam asked her. "We barely even know each other."

His words hurt, but Becky persisted. "But I know YOU, Sam! I've read every one of Chuck's books, and now that I've met you in person, I love you even more!"

Sam silently cursed Chuck and his damn books. The Winchesters had had nothing but headaches from both. He stood up from his chair. He was done.

"But I don't love you, Becky," Sam said. He could see he had to be blunt with this girl. She started to cry; it was time to go. "I'm sorry, Becky," Sam said hastily. He hurried out of the coffee shop, not looking back.

Becky sat there and cried for a while. People were looking at her but she didn't care. She had built her whole life around Sam Winchester and he wanted nothing to do with her.

Finally she got up, paid for her coffee, and walked home. She poured herself a tumbler of whiskey, took as many sleeping pills as she could hold down, and laid down on the couch, holding the Supernatural series book Chuck had signed for her. She read until the pills kicked in, smiling through her tears.

Becky's body was found three days later.

So here Becky was, in Hell. When she'd first gotten here, Becky had been confused. What had she done in life that was so bad that she'd ended up here? Was this some kind of mistake?

She'd been assigned to the reception desk straight away. Becky had since found out from talking to co-workers that hers was the luckiest job to get in Hell, one of the only jobs that did not involve suffering and pain. No one could answer her questions about why they were there in Hell; everyone she'd talked to seemed as puzzled about their own fate as Becky was about hers. They'd all led quiet, uneventful lives. However, upon further questioning, Becky discovered that everyone she'd talked to did have one thing in common: like her, they'd all committed suicide.

So there it was. On the one hand, she had the cushiest job in Hell; on the other hand, it was Hell. Becky didn't know how to feel about that. Well, she was stuck now. If she could take it back, she would, but it was too late.

Becky had received the shock of her life, so to speak, when she called the next number to come up to the reception desk. Chuck! Chuck, in Hell?

Chuck was also shocked to see Becky sitting there. He'd been furious when she'd dumped him for Sam, it was true, but that was a number of years ago and he'd gotten over her while holding onto his hatred of Sam. She'd been a silly, ditzy girl, he'd rationalized to himself. Their relationship would never have lasted. He needed someone who would challenge him intellectually.

But seeing Becky here was a surprise. Chuck had lost track of her after he'd returned to Heaven and none of the prophecies he had written had mentioned her name. Maybe this was why. What had she done that would bring her here? he wondered.

He and Becky stared at each other for a moment, then Becky looked around, but her co-workers were all busy with their own arrivals and not looking her way. So she leaned forward and said softly, "Chuck? What are you doing here?"

There was no way he was going there with her, so he countered, "I could ask you the same thing."

"I really don't know," Becky answered, wide-eyed.

Chuck sighed inwardly. He remembered that look. But he saw a rare opportunity here, and he meant to try to take advantage of it. So he leaned forward himself and whispered, "I'm here undercover. For Heaven."

Becky's mouth dropped open. She took another furtive glance around.

So did Chuck, but no one was paying attention to them, and he hurried on, "Becky, I need you to do me a huge favour. If you do this, I'll put in a good word for you when I get back there. I'm sure your being here is a mistake."

Once again, because Becky wanted to believe what Chuck was saying, she did. "What do you want me to do?" she whispered.

"There's an Angel here who's also undercover, and I'm here to relay a very important message to him. I need you to assign me to his work detail."

Becky's fingers were poised over the keyboard. If she helped Chuck now, he would help her later. It was her only chance to get out of here.

"What's his name?" she asked Chuck.

"His name is Metatron."

ODETTE, 1.2

Odette knocked on Frank's door. She checked the knife at her hip once more to make sure it wasn't visible under her skirt.

When Rowena had given her the blade and requested Odette to kill Frank, Odette had balked at first. He was a Knight, and the King's favourite from what she'd heard. She wouldn't dare. But then Rowena explained that Frank had been conspiring to commit treason against the King. Her son had been called away on urgent business and had asked his mother to pass on his orders. Odette had been designated for the task, specially chosen by the King, as he knew that Frank would be expecting her to come to his room. Once admitted into Frank's room, she was to take the knife out and kill him straightaway. When Rowena's son returned from his business trip and Frank was dead, Odette would be brought before the King and richly rewarded. Rowena would see to it herself.

So Odette had accepted the blade from Rowena and hidden it under her skirt. She was only too glad to kill Frank. He was a bastard who had abused her for the last time. And when Odette was brought before Crowley, she would ask to be reassigned. She was done with being a whore.

Frank opened the door to Odette's knock and she entered the room.

"Close the door behind you," Frank ordered her. Then, incredibly, he turned his back on her and walked towards the bed.

This was her chance. Odette reached under her skirt to get the knife, but it caught on the fabric and in her panic to take it out, the blade ripped the material. Frank heard the sound and wheeled around just in time to grab her arm as she raised the blade.

"Nice try, bitch," he snarled, twisting her arm painfully until she dropped the knife.

Frank continued to squeeze her arm as he reached down to pick it up.

"Well, look what we have here," he said softly, almost pleasantly, but his grip on her arm tightened until the pain was excruciating.

Frank looked her in the eyes, grinning, but his smile was an evil sneer and his eyes were black and cold. "Looks like my night just got a lot more interesting."

He threw Odette down on the bed then, bringing the knife with him. An hour or so later, Frank plunged the blade into her chest, and Odette was thankful.

GAIL, 1.5

Crowley had finally called Dean back to propose the meeting, and Gail was pacing the floor by the library, waiting for Sam and Dean to emerge from their rooms.

She stopped by the bookshelf that concealed the safe, remembering the time that she herself had been a Demon and Castiel and the Winchesters had cured her in the middle of this very room. But of course, she had had Crowley's Demon blood in her then, and it was diluted with the human blood with which the brothers had previously dosed him. As it was not pure Demon blood Gail had been receiving, the cure had proved effective. How she wished they could do the same for Frank. But she had made her peace with it, as best she could.

She continued to stand there, staring off into space. There was something about this spot...then she suddenly remembered. There was a wall safe behind the bookcase she was looking at. Was the box still in there?

"OK, let's go," Dean said from behind her.

Gail turned to him. "Dean, is the box with my human powers still in the safe?"

He thought for a minute. "I guess it is, yeah."

She turned to Castiel. "I wonder..." she started to say to him, but his eyes narrowed and he said, "What are you thinking?", as if he already knew. And maybe he did. Castiel was no fool, and he had come to know Gail very well.

"Would it be possible..."she started again, but again Castiel cut her off, saying, "No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say!" Gail said, frustrated.

He came over to where Gail was standing and looked her in the eye. "You want to know if I can put them back in you," he said.

Damn, he was good. She faced him. "Yes."

"Why?" Dean piped up. "Don't you have Angel powers now?"

"Yes," Cas answered for her, "but Gail is thinking that if she were to have these powers in addition to the ones she has now, she'd be, well..."

"Super-powered," Sam finished for him. He almost grinned but stopped himself owing to the seriousness of the situation.

"Yes," Castiel answered shortly. He considered the idea. It was certainly interesting. Considering what they were walking into, they could probably use all the help that they could get. On the other hand, he was all too familiar with the inherent risks involved. When he himself had ingested the power of all those souls, he'd gone into overload, became an egomaniacal monster. How much power was too much? Was it worth the risk?

But that wasn't for him to decide, Castiel realized. He had to let Gail make her own decisions.

"It would be very dangerous," he said to her.

"How dangerous?" Dean asked, frowning.

But Castiel was speaking directly to Gail, wanting to make sure she understood. "You remember, of course, when I told you I'd ingested all those souls? All that power? What I became?" It hurt him to have to bring this up, one of the worst days of his existence, but she had to be reminded of the possible consequences of what she was contemplating.

Gail thought on this for a minute, then said, "But those were souls. These are powers that were part of me when I was a human. There's a difference, right?"

She might have a point there, but Castiel still felt uneasy. "I don't know, Gail. I honestly don't know," he told her.

She thought about it for another minute. She didn't want the same thing that happened to Castiel to happen to her, that much was obvious. But she really did feel like this was different, and if she could be operating at maximum power, her assistance to her friends would be almost immeasurable. Gail was aware of the danger they were putting themselves in by voluntarily walking into Crowley's den yet again, and again she was responsible for them having to do so. Didn't she owe it to her friends to try?

So she asked Dean to open the safe, and while he was doing so, Gail took Castiel aside. "I need you to promise me something," she said to him.

But again, he already knew what she was going to say. "I can't, Gail," he said uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze.

"You have to," Gail insisted. She put her hand on his cheek and made him look at her. "If I become like - you did - you have to promise to end it."

"You're asking me to kill you," he said quietly.

"Yes." She nodded. She knew it was a lot to ask; but she needed to know, needed his assurance that he would do what was necessary, if it became necessary.

Dean approached them then, holding the box. Sam came too, remembering that the blood spell which would open the box required blood from all three of the men.

Sam, Dean and Castiel made cuts in their palms and put their hands on the seals. When the box was open, Castiel took the ball of light in his hand and brought it to Gail's chest, leaving it there until the last bit was absorbed into her vessel.

Gail's body shook and her head snapped back, as if receiving a blow. Then she took a deep breath and said, "OK, let's go."

They left the bunker to drive to Crowley's den, and Gail felt the power coursing through her, almost as if she'd received a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. She was so preoccupied with this feeling that it didn't occur to her: Castiel had never given her his promise.

CHUCK, 1.8

Chuck and Metatron worked side by side for days before they had the opportunity to talk. The Demon with the whip was never far enough away for them to communicate. Chuck was getting frustrated. The One True Prophet and the Scribe of God, doing manual labour like two schmos. It was almost laughable, really.

But then one day when Chuck had nearly reached his breaking point, the Demon overseer approached the door to receive a new recruit and Chuck saw his opening.

"I think I may have found a way to get us out of here," he muttered to Metatron without preliminary.

Metatron continued to work, but he was all ears. "How?" he asked.

"Through an ex-girlfriend of mine," Chuck replied.

BECKY, 1.2

Becky was on her break when Chuck walked by her table and dropped a note in front of her. He didn't speak or make eye contact, just kept walking. He only got a 5-minute break twice a day and if you were late coming back, you got the lash, one stroke for every second you were tardy. Crowley ran a tight ship.

She scooped up the note quickly and looked around, but no one was paying any attention to her. Some things never changed. Nevertheless, Becky unfolded the note under the table.

"We need to return to Heaven," Chuck had written. "Please help, and we will help you. Meet me at 9:00 outside the furnace room."

Becky discreetly tore the note into tiny pieces and buried it in the garbage as she left.

CROWLEY, 1.9

It was almost time. Crowley sat on his throne, waiting for the Winchesters, Castiel and Gail to come. He was sipping from his usual glass of scotch, contemplating the quartet's arrival. He'd made up his mind about Gail. She was an Angel now and as such, was of no use to him. He'd considered recapturing her and trying to turn her anyway, just to see if he could do it. Converting an Angel had never been done, and would have been immensely satisfying. But the more he'd thought about it, the more he realized he didn't want her any more. He had her brother now, and Frank had turned out to be everything he'd wanted, exceeding expectations. Crowley knew he'd been a Hunter in life and therefore was not averse to violence, but the guy had to have had some psychopath in him to begin with to have worked out this well. Conversely, his sister would always be resistant to Crowley's will. He was aware of how close she and Castiel had grown, and Crowley could not picture Gail turning her back on Heaven after being under his former Brother's sickeningly pure influence for so long.

So Crowley would keep Frank and Gail would die. But not before seeing her brother torture and kill her friends. Payback was a bitch.

Rowena entered the throne room. Crowley had sent for her in anticipation of the meeting ahead. He wanted his mother to see him at his evil best. He remembered his previous incarnation as the watered-down King of Hell, contaminated by human blood and the emotions that came with it. She'd had only contempt for him then, and a part of him couldn't really blame her. Rowena would show him the respect that he deserved once she saw him in action, and once Fergus saw the look of admiration on her face, Rowena would die, too. He'd had enough of her plotting behind his back. Crowley knew that she had tried to incite unrest in his court, and he knew about the assassination attempt on Frank. It didn't take a genius to figure out who'd been behind it. He'd spared his mother up to this point, perhaps out of gratitude for her having brought him back from the dead. But she had overstepped her bounds, and it was time to get rid of the bitch.

Crowley had not bothered to inform his mother that Gail was now working for the other team. He smiled inwardly as she talked excitedly about welcoming Gail back into the fold. Let her have her dreams, he thought. Maybe he'd let Gail have the pleasure of killing her once future mother-in-law. Wasn't that secretly every woman's fantasy?

GAIL, 1.6

No ambush, no attack; just one Demon standing at the door waiting for them. "I'll take you to the King," he'd said, quite politely for a Demon.

And here they all were in the throne room together. Rowena and Crowley sat side by side. Crowley snapped his fingers and four chairs appeared opposite.

"Sit down," he gestured. "Let's talk."

The humans and the Angels glanced at each other. He was kidding, right?

"Go ahead," Crowley said. He spread his hands out in front of him. "No tricks. Demon's honour."

Dean laughed shortly. Sam murmured, "Now there's an oxymoron if I've ever heard one."

Still they stood, and Crowley frowned. "Very well. I have something you want, and-"

"-And you have something we want," Rowena finished for him. Crowley glared at her momentarily, but then decided it didn't matter. Let her have her little moment.

"What do you have that we could possibly want?" Castiel said contemptuously.

"Gail's brother, of course," Crowley replied, smiling. "I'm a sucker for family reunions."

"Assuming that's true," Castiel continued, almost conversationally, "then what do we have that you want?"

Rowena chimed in, "Why, Gail, of course."

Amazingly, Castiel threw back his head and laughed. "And why would you want an Angel of the Lord, witch?" he said to Rowena.

Her mouth fell open. What? She looked to her son.

"Oh yes, about that," Crowley said, smiling at his mother. "It would seem that my ex-girlfriend is now plying her considerable trade for the God Squad."

"Which is this douchebag's way of saying she's an Angel now," Dean piped up. He was tired of dancing around and tired of hearing Crowley listen to himself talk. "So, no dice."

"Not that we would ever have made the trade, anyway," Sam added. "And you knew that, Crowley. So why are we here?"

Crowley made a show of sighing. "I was going to take Gail anyway, but since you make such a compelling case-" he was about to call Sam Moose out of habit, but Crowley stopped himself at the last minute. No cutesy nicknames. That wasn't who he was any more. If the brothers thought that there was any human left in him, they were in for a rude surprise.

Gail was seething. Her vessel was still shaking with the high voltage of her powers and now she was really angry. "'Take me'?" she shouted. "I don't bloody think so!"

Crowley looked at her coolly. "You're almost making me change my mind. Such fire. Such spirit. Hardly proper behaviour for an Angel, is it?" He was enjoying this immensely. But it was time to get down to the heart of the matter. Crowley could see the Winchesters' hands moving slowly to their weapons.

"Time for the heartwarming reunion," he said, waving his hand. The door to the throne room opened and Frank walked in. He came around to stand beside Crowley and looked directly at Gail.

"My little baby sister," Frank said to her. "How ya doin', kiddo?"

That pierced her heart. That's what he'd always called her. She'd forgotten how much she missed it.

Gail looked at the thing that was calling itself Frank and she knew her brother was truly gone.

METATRON, 1.12

Metatron and Chuck were outside the furnace room at 9:00, but no Becky.

"Are you sure she's coming?" Metatron whispered to Chuck.

9:01 now. "She'll be here," Chuck whispered back, though he wasn't entirely sure. They'd give her another few minutes, he thought. If they were late, they'd just have to suffer the lash.

Becky came rushing around the corner. "Sorry I'm late," she said breathlessly.

"That's OK, you're here now," Chuck said. "But we don't have much time. This is Metatron, and he's the Scribe of God. We have to get back to Heaven. God has a mission for us. And I'll talk to Him on your behalf."

Chuck had spoken quickly due to the time constraint, hoping Becky would be sold.

And she was. It was vintage Becky, really. It never occurred to her to wonder why God couldn't just pull them out of there Himself. She only knew that she had to help. Scribe of God? She didn't know what that was, but Metatron sounded like a VIP of Heaven.

"We'll help you, Sister," Metatron assured her, patting Becky's arm, "but first, you have to help us."

There was a way, Becky knew. "There's a hidden portal here," she told them, "but it only goes to Earth."

Metatron smiled. Worked for him. "If you can get us there, we can do the rest," he said to her.

So they arranged to meet at the same time tomorrow, and Becky would take them to the portal. After that, she could do no more; they were on their own.

"Bless you, Sister," Metatron said, at his most Angelic. "We'll see you in Heaven, where you belong, before the week is out."

Metatron and Chuck were a minute late from break, but he barely felt the whip in his excited state. Metatron was going home.

GAIL, 1.7

The seven of them stared at each other for a moment, like some kind of unholy standoff at the O.K. Corral. Three stood for evil, four stood for good. Who would make the first move?

Rowena rose from her seat beside her son and walked over to where Gail was standing. She was livid. There went all her plans, all because this little slip of a girl had made the stupidest decision of her life.

Castiel edged closer to Gail, on high alert. The witch was mortal, but she was very dangerous.

Gail stared back at Rowena defiantly. "Do you have something to say to me?" she asked Crowley's mother.

"You stupid girl. We could have had everything," Rowena said softly. "Now, you will have nothing." She withdrew a dagger from the folds of her gown. But before Rowena could strike, Gail raised her arm and Rowena went flying backwards, dropping the knife at Gail's feet.

Boy, that felt good. Adrenaline coursed through Gail's vessel, or maybe it was the wonderful feeling, the exhilaration of realizing that she was more powerful than anyone in the room.

Rowena slowly rose to her feet as Gail picked up the knife and advanced. The King's mother looked to him but Crowley merely smirked at her. Frank was also looking at her and smiling. There was no help to be had there, Rowena realized. She had lied and manipulated her way around her son's court one too many times, and she was about to pay the price.

With no spells at her disposal, no magic to create, Rowena was at Gail's mercy.

"You've got it backwards," Gail said to Rowena. "I have everything I ever wanted." She glanced at Crowley, who was enjoying watching his mother squirm. But she couldn't quite bring herself to look at Frank. OK, maybe not everything, Gail amended to herself. She looked back at Rowena. "It's you who has nothing."

Gail stabbed Rowena in the heart with the knife, then beheaded her, just to be sure. Then she dropped the knife on the floor. "Trying to kill an Angel with an ordinary knife?" she scoffed. "Nice try, bitch."

As her friends were watching Gail kill Rowena, Crowley smiled, appreciating the viciousness of Gail's action. He silently thanked her, and once again regretted that he couldn't have her on his team. He motioned to Frank. Time to move, while the men were preoccupied.

Frank advanced on the Winchesters, who had their Demon knives out. He smirked, "Let's party, boys."

Castiel had been staring at Gail. The aggressive way she had killed Rowena and her comment afterwards were bothering him. Had the infusion of extra powers warped her mind, as had happened to him? Or had she just been fuelled by her anger at what Crowley and his mother had done to her in the past? God knew she had the right. Still, she would have to be watched closely.

But right now, the Winchesters needed him. He rushed forward to confront Frank, who had thrown out his arms, sending Sam and Dean crashing into the wall. Frank continued to advance on the brothers, and Castiel lifted his arm to drive Frank away from them...but nothing happened.

Meanwhile, Gail was approaching Crowley on the throne, circling him warily. She felt as if she had the power to reach out one hand and tear him to pieces, but something held her back. He looked at her speculatively. How had she been able to repel his mother? He'd taken precautions.

Look at poor Castiel, Crowley thought, smirking. Would he never learn? Crowley'd had his subjects encase the throne room with invisible sigils prior to the meeting. Therefore, Castiel was powerless, and Gail should be, too. Crowley's forehead wrinkled.

Castiel withdrew his Angel blade and began to fight with Frank, while the Winchesters got up from the floor. Incredibly, Frank was holding all three men off at once. He sent the Winchesters crashing to the opposite wall of the room, and this time they did not get up. Then Frank smiled grimly, raised both arms, and sent Castiel flying in the other direction.

Crowley was enjoying the floor show. His Knight clearly had the upper hand. Frank looked at Crowley for instructions; which should he kill first?

There was only one answer for that; the one that would hurt Gail the most. Crowley pointed to Castiel. "Finish him."

Castiel was slow to get up, and he'd lost his Angel blade. Frank scooped it up and drove it into Castiel's chest, burying it to the hilt.

"No!" Gail screamed. Frank turned to look at her. He grinned then; it was the most horrible thing she'd ever seen in her life.

She ran towards him then, this thing that used to be her brother, and extended both of her arms, throwing Frank across the room and away from Castiel.

Crowley sat up straighter. How was Gail doing that? A room full of sigils, and she was throwing people around like rag dolls. What was going on here?

Gail fell to her knees in front of Castiel. He couldn't be dead, it was impossible...

But before she had a chance to check, Frank had scrambled to his feet and was advancing. Sam and Dean regained consciousness behind Gail and started to get up, but she was unaware. All Gail saw was the Demon bastard who had killed Castiel, not her brother, and she picked up her Angel blade and ran blindly at Frank, ramming it into his chest. He died with the look of surprise on his face.

Gail kept on stabbing Frank's body long after he was dead, crying the whole time.

Sam ran to Gail and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her off Frank's body. Gail was screaming, no words, just screaming, fighting Sam to get free. Dean advanced on Crowley, knife in hand...

He was outnumbered, his best Knight was dead, and Gail's powers were inexplicable. The Fergus in Crowley, a craven coward, snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Dean and Sam knelt beside Castiel's body as Gail threw both her arms out in the direction of Crowley's throne. She'd missed disintegrating him by seconds. Damn Sam! If he hadn't been holding her back, she'd have had her revenge! The throne he'd been sitting on exploded, but it was little consolation.

Gail glanced down at Demon Frank's body. Now that the Demon in him was dead, he looked like her brother again. He might be sleeping, she thought. Rest in peace, dear brother. I'm sorry I couldn't save you.

She knelt by Castiel's body then, about to check him for signs of life. But Dean shook his head. "He's gone, Gail." He picked up Cas's body at the shoulders and Sam took the legs, and they started to carry him out of the den.

Gail felt like she had lost her mind. She stood there, stunned, looking around the throne room at the bodies, the blood...What had been the point? Why had they ever agreed to come here? Castiel was dead. How was she supposed to live with herself now?

She would go up to Heaven and throw herself at God's feet, plead with Him to take it back, kill her instead if it had to be a life for a life. And if He refused, she would take her Angel blade and kill herself with it.

Sam and Dean laid Castiel's body on the grass outside the building, then walked to the trunk of the Impala and pulled out a supply of Molotov cocktails. They lit one after the other, throwing them at the building until the entire structure was engulfed in flames. Burn, you sons of bitches, Dean thought, eyes blurring with tears.

Gail knelt down on the grass by Castiel's body. She was shaking uncontrollably, oversome with emotion. She felt the surge of adrenaline she had felt when they had first come to the den. What good was having this much power when you had no way to vent it?

This much power...

Her eyes widened. She had her Angel healing power, and an additional dose in the form of the powers that had been infused back into her body. Could that possibly be enough?

Gail had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. She put both hands on Castiel's chest, closed her eyes, and prayed. Please. Please.

She opened her eyes to see a wonderful glow emanating from her hands, the most beautiful mix of blue and gold she had ever seen, with a touch of pure white. She watched in awe as the glow left her hands and spread to Castiel's body.

"Dean!" she heard Sam yell in the background, over the sound of crackling fire from the burning building.

Sam and Dean ran over to where Gail was and they all stared down at the blue and gold aura. It glowed bright for a minute or so and then faded away. They held their breath.

Castiel's eyes fluttered open and he sat up slowly, looking around. "What happened?" he asked. "Where are we?"

Thank You, Father! Gail thought, then she was touching Castiel's arms, his chest, his face, just to make sure he was OK, that it wasn't just wishful thinking, that he was actually alive.

Castiel looked at her, then at the Winchesters, who were standing over him, mouths open in amazement. He'd heard Gail thanking God in her head a moment ago, and he put two and two together.

"Thank you, Gail," Castiel said.

She threw her arms around him then, laughing and crying at the same time. When the smoke from the burning building started to spread, Sam and Dean helped Gail and Castiel to their feet and they piled into the Impala. Dean floored the accelerator and they headed home.

GOD, 1.5

God sat back in His chair and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

He had been looking in on His children at regular intervals ever since their meeting with Crowley had been arranged. He'd been impressed with Gail's stoic acceptance of her brother's status. If she or even Castiel had asked Him to intervene, He would have had to refuse. A Knight of Hell was unredeemable; even God Himself could do nothing about that. If He even tried, the action would unravel the fabric of the whole system.

He had also been happy to see the four of them sticking together, working as a team. This had been the intention all along, when He had allowed Sam and Dean to return to life and Gail to become an Angel. Sam and Dean, Castiel and Gail. Two pairs that joined together to form a perfect circle. God intended to see to it that His favourite children stayed together for a long, long time.

He'd watched as Castiel imbued Gail with the additional powers, and wondered how that would turn out. Contrary to popular belief, God didn't know everything. That particular situation was without precedent. Like His son Castiel, God had wondered if it would be too much for Gail to handle. Look what had happened to Castiel. If someone as strong as Castiel could be corrupted by that much power, what of Gail?

But she had apparently been made of much stronger stuff than God had given her credit for. She had dispensed with evil, both in the form of Rowena and of the Knight of Hell, and God had heartily approved. Gail may have used overkill tactics, especially when it came to the Demon that used to be her brother, but she had just seen him kill Castiel, so allowances could be made for emotion.

God had looked into her thoughts after that, wanting to know her state of mind. His heart had broken when He saw His favourite son laying on the dead on the floor of a Demon den. But when God heard Gail think that she would come to Heaven and appeal to Him directly to reverse Castiel's death, offer her life for his if necessary, God knew He would have to intervene. So when Gail had put her hands on Castiel's chest to heal him, God gave her that extra bit of juice, in the form of the white light, that was necessary to accomplish the task.

When Castiel sat up, God's heart was glad, but He also realized something else: He was done. He was tired, and He had been doing this job too long. He wanted to retire. He would continue to watch over His favourite children, but from elsewhere. He would finish out the month, tying up some old business, and then appoint a successor. And He had just the candidate in mind.

GAIL, 1.8

They were back in the bunker, home. Safe.

Gail went to Sam and Dean, examining them and healing their injuries. Luckily, there were no serious ones. She was exhausted now, and the adrenaline was gone. She felt like she was running on fumes. Gail had used all her extra power to bring Castiel back, and after she'd healed the last cut on Dean's arm, she sank to the floor, spent.

Dean helped Gail up and into a chair.

"Thanks, Dean," she said gratefully. She looked at him and Sam. "OK, nobody get so much as a paper cut in the next couple of days," she said with a half-smile. "I'm done for a while." Gail slumped in her chair and closed her eyes.

Castiel walked by where she sat and smoothed back the hair from Gail's forehead, planting a soft kiss there. "Rest up," he said in a gentle voice. "If there's any healing to be done around here, I can do it."

She opened her eyes. "You?" Gail said, smiling wryly. "You should be resting most of all. I mean, you were-" she couldn't say it.

"Dead?" He smiled, sitting in the chair next to her and taking her hand. "I know. But you used your extra powers to bring me back. And now-"

"And now they're gone," she finished for him. "And I'm glad. You were right. No one should have that much power."

He frowned. "Why didn't it affect you like it did me?"

"Who says it didn't?" she replied. Gail thought back to how she'd felt in the den, like she was more powerful than anyone. She would have vapourized Crowley if she'd had the chance; she almost had. Not that that would have necessarily been a bad thing, but... "I did what needed to be done." She tried to explain to him, articulate how she had felt. "But I didn't like myself that way. That's not who I am. The power did go to my head. I'm glad it's gone," she repeated. "Now I'm just...me again."

Dean had gone to the fridge and gotten beers for the three men. He put Cas's in front of him, ordering Cas to take a drink. Cas picked up the bottle, clinked it against Dean's and took a sip, smiling at his friend.

"Dean cried when you died, Cas," Sam said, grinning.

Dean looked at him. "Shut up. So did you."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I did."

Both brothers looked at Cas and raised their beers in salute. He did the same. He was touched.

Gail would go on to tease Dean and Sam about many things over the years, but she would never tease them about that.

METATRON, 1.13

He emerged from behind the dumpster and took a deep breath. Despite the fetid odour of garbage and the faint smell of urine in the alley, it was the sweetest breath Metatron had ever taken. He was back on Earth.

Becky, wonderful Becky, had led him and Chuck to the portal that took them from Hell to Earth, and they had stepped through it. First Chuck, then Metatron. They had promised Becky that she would soon be ascending to Heaven as they had left, but of course, they'd lied. They were both fugitives from Heaven now, and from Hell, for that matter.

A scruffy, homeless man approached the dumpster. I'm so hungry, the man thought, wishing he were someone else, someone with money and a future. Hearing the man's thoughts, Metatron latched onto him, needing a vessel. He would upgrade as soon as he could, though. This one smelled.

He looked around. Chuck was nowhere in sight. Odd. Maybe he'd gone looking for a vessel to inhabit, or maybe he'd had a feeling that Metatron might kill him as soon as they arrived on Earth. That had certainly been Metatron's plan. Chuck had been very useful to him, but he'd grown tired of their association and quite frankly, tired of Chuck. Chuck fancied himself an intellectual and a visionary, but now that he could no longer forsee the future, he was not worth Metatron's time.

Metatron raised his hand to lift the dumpster into the air, but as he had expected, it did not move. He'd been stripped of his powers when he'd been cast into Hell. But no matter. He was an Original Angel of God, a member of an exclusive club. He had only to get his hands on an Angel blade and kill another Angel with it, and then Metatron would have his Grace back. It would be stolen Grace, and therefore temporary, but he was not concerned. There were plenty of Angels, and he'd discovered that he liked killing. He was highly intelligent, and highly motivated. He would find a way.

GOD, 1.6

God let his children rest for a day, then called Castiel and Gail on Angel Radio and asked them to come to his office for a meeting. Unlike the last time He had summoned them here, this was more of an invitation, really.

But they came immediately, of course.

He bade them to have a seat, and congratulated them on the success of the latest mission.

Then he sat there, silently contemplating the couple.

Castiel broke the quiet. "Why have you called us here, Father?"

Gail was wondering the same thing. She vividly remembered the last time He had called them here. God had been very stern at first, but she had found Him to be a very fair authoritarian figure, warm, even. He felt like a Father to her too now. But He was quiet, just staring at them. What was He thinking?

For perhaps the first time in His existence, God was reticent. He wasn't sure how to break the ice and broach the subject He had in mind. So He took a circuitous route.

"I was glad to see that you two worked out your recent...difficulties," God said.

Castiel couldn't believe it. But then, he shouldn't have been surprised. He knew his Father watched over them from time to time, but He would have to pick one of the most distressing and embarrassing episodes, wouldn't He?

"All couples have ups and downs sometimes," God counselled. "Forgiveness and acceptance are the key, as well as love, of course."

Now it was Gail who couldn't believe it. Was this God, or Dr. Phil? He looked at her, smiling gently. Crap. She was going to have to stop thinking such things in His presence. Was that blasphemy?

"And you two do love each other, of course, don't you?" God probed, looking at Castiel as He said it.

"Yes, of course, my Father," Castiel said blandly.

God looked at him sharply. Unbelievably, He said, "That's a 'Castiel' answer. I'm looking for a 'Cas' answer."

He had Gail's full attention now. Suddenly she realized she really wanted to hear Castiel's answer to this question. She already knew what her answer would be if asked.

Castiel smiled. He turned to face Gail. "I love her with all my heart and soul."

"I thought it was about time you told her that," God said, smiling Himself. "Over to you, Gail."

Gail took Castiel's hand. "I love you, too," she said to him.

God was very happy. He loved love more than anything He had ever created; it was truly life's greatest gift. Elusive to so many, but when it came, it was a wondrous thing to behold. And it didn't matter to Him who the two were: gay, straight, old young, mixed races. Love was love, and it was good.

But God was about to test their partnership once more.

He leaned back in his chair. "And now we come to the real reason I called you here today."

Castiel and Gail tore their gaze away from each other and looked at Him, curious.

So God told them all about how He'd been feeling, and about his plans to retire at the end of the month.

"But...you're God!" blurted Gail, unable to help herself. "How can you just - retire?"

"Easily," He replied, smiling at her. "I've been here since time began. I've seen every historical event known to man, even caused a few. I've seen death, famine, wars, disease. I've seen horribly misguided humans fly planes into buildings, killing thousands of innocent people, thinking it would please me, or their version of me. That's the one I can't quite seem to let go of." He paused. "I'm done, my children. I need to take a sabbatical, clear my head of all I've seen. This job needs some new blood, anyway."

Castiel was shocked, but truth be told, he was not really surprised. A few years ago, God had just taken off, going on an extended vacation. And since He'd been back, it hadn't seemed like His heart was really in it any more. He had let things slip.

"I need to appoint a successor," God continued. "And that's why I really called you two here today. I'd like it to be you, Castiel."

CHUCK, 1.9

Chuck was wandering the streets of Las Vegas, looking up at the glowing neon lights in wonder. He'd never been here during his time on Earth. It was everything he'd ever heard about and more.

Truth be told, it was too much.

Chuck had emerged from the portal behind the dumpster a few minutes prior to Metatron and, needing a vessel, had glommed on to the first person he'd seen.

Her name was Candy, or at least that was the name she'd taken upon her arrival in Vagas. She was a 22-year-old girl from Ventura, California, and she'd had aspirations of being an actress. Candy had come to Vegas on a tip from a friend, who'd told her there were lots of jobs there. She needed money for a portfolio of head shots and a biography she was putting together, and to hire an agent and a publicity team. When Candy dreamed, she dreamed big.

So Candy had been pounding the pavement in Las Vegas, going from casino to casino, looking for work. Her feet were killing her and so far, she hadn't gotten a lead, or a single job that didn't involve taking her clothes off. Then she'd felt a snap, and she looked down at her feet. Great. One of her heels had broken off, and these were the nicest shoes she had been able to afford. It sucks to be me, she thought. If only I could be someone else just for a while, someone confident...

As Candy leaned against the corner of the building to take her shoe off, her back to the alleyway, Chuck took her over as a vessel. Any port in a storm, he thought. There was no time to lose; Metatron would be emerging from the portal any moment now.

Chuck had never been in a female vessel before. It felt weird. He took off Candy's other shoe and walked quickly down the boulevard in stocking feet. He'd look for a male vessel later, but right now it seemed paramount to put some distance between him and Metatron. Could former Angels recognize each other, even when occupying other vessels? He didn't know, and he didn't want to take the chance. Metatron was crazy, he knew now, and since Chuck was no longer in Heaven and could no longer see into the future, he had lost his usefulness to his former partner.

He was also completely human now. Like Metatron, any powers Chuck had had while in Heaven, limited though Chuck's had been, had been stripped from him. But unlike Metatron, who as one of God's Originals had the ability to regain his Grace, Chuck was on his own.

CASTIEL, 1.12

No. It was his first thought when God said He wanted Castiel to take over the High Office. No way.

You must have me confused with someone else, Castiel thought, as he looked at God in amazement. I'm no leader. I'm not...You.

God was smiling at him benevolently, but Castiel felt as if his Father was testing him. After having just declared his love for Gail, Castiel was content to return to their lives and their missions on Earth, knowing that things would be a little different now, yet somehow the same. He was happy with the status quo. Helping humans with the Winchester brothers was his dream job, always had been. And now with the blessed addition of Gail as his partner, Castiel's existence was complete. And God wanted him to turn his back on it all, to assume the Highest Holy Office. A small part of him was flattered, and he didn't want to let God down, but every instinct Castiel had was telling him it was a bad idea.

Gail's first thought upon hearing God's proposal to Castiel had also been No, but she knew she had no right to weigh in. This was between God and Castiel, almost like a father asking his son to take over the family business. She was a recent addition to the family, and although her relationship with Castiel was on solid footing, who was she to tell him she didn't want him to take the job?

God looked from Castiel to Gail and back. He could see the hesitation in both of them to speak, and the reluctance in his Son's eyes. He had meant it as a sincere offer and not a test, but they seemed to be regarding it as such. He sighed inwardly. One of the problems with being Him was that everyone was afraid to be honest about their feelings, lest they displease Him. But what was the point of having free will if you were too intimidated to exercise it?

"I can see you two have some talking to do," God said to them. "I'll give you a minute." He vanished from the office.

Castiel immediately turned to Gail. "What do you think?" he asked her.

"It's not up to me, it's up to you," she answered cautiously.

He sighed. "I need to know what you REALLY think." He took her hands in his. "Should I even consider this?"

Gail looked at him, frowning. "Of course you should consider it."

This surprised Castiel, and his face fell. Did she think he should take the job? Become God? He thought she knew him.

But Gail wasn't finished. "And once you've considered it for about 2 seconds, I think you should thank Him for the very generous offer and respectfully decline." She smiled. "You wouldn't be happy sitting here in this office, Castiel. We both know that."

Castiel nodded. He did know that. But it was good to know that Gail knew it too, and good to have her support.

Of course, Gail couldn't help but be Gail, and her face broke into a sly grin then. "Wait till Sam and Dean find out you passed up a chance to be God," she said mischeviously. "Are they ever gonna be pissed."

Castiel laughed. He leaned forward and kissed her as God reappeared opposite them. Castiel and Gail quickly broke the kiss, but God smiled at them. He was happy to see their expression of love, and told them so.

Silence for a moment. Then: "So, have you made your decision, my Son?" God asked Castiel.

"Yes, I have," Castiel replied. "Thank you for your very generous offer, but I respectfully decline."

Gail was trying to look serious now that God was back but she couldn't help smiling. He'd used the exact same wording she'd used when giving Castiel her opinion.

God sighed, audibly this time. "Well, I won't pretend I'm surprised," He said. "I'm a little disappointed, but I'll get over it." He'd had to make the offer, anyway. Just on the off chance. But God knew his favourite Son well, and He was happy to see that Castiel had finally been able to make the wisest decision based on his own needs, and not just telling his Father what He'd wanted to hear. If that wasn't the best definition of free will, then He didn't know what was.

So God accepted Castiel's decision, and He wished His children well. Then He picked up the phone and dialed an extension.

BOBBY, 1.1

Bobby picked up the phone and was shocked to hear God's voice on the other end, requesting a meeting. Bobby had been in Heaven for a while now, doing the best job he could, but this was weird. God had made requests of him before, such as appearing to Dean in a dream, but Bobby had never been summoned for a face to face meeting like this.

He entered God's office and sat down. Unlike most of his fellow Angels, Bobby was not overly intimidated to be sitting here. He had the proper respect, of course, but Bobby had seen a lot of things in his life on Earth and not too much fazed him any more.

Bobby had been a curious study as a human. He hadn't really been on God's radar to begin with, but as God had begun to observe his interactions with Sam and Dean Winchester, He began to pay closer attention. Bobby had been a borderline alcoholic and an irascible s.o.b., but he also had a genuine love for the brothers and a dedication to the eradication of evil that was second to none. God had found himself watching Bobby even when he was not with the Winchesters, and had been impressed by what He saw. Bobby had his flaws, but at the end of the day, his integrity was without question.

Which was why Bobby was God's next choice to take over the High Office. He knew the appointment might ruffle a few feathers, but God didn't care. Truth be told, if Castiel had taken the job, there would have been a few Angels who would have had a problem with it, but God felt they would be mostly accepting of his Son. But Castiel had not wanted the job; therefore, Bobby was God's Plan B.

So God made Bobby the offer, and Bobby was absolutely floored. Him? As God? It was laughable. He could just imagine Dean's face.

"Why me?" Bobby asked God. "You must have many, umm, holier Angels to choose from."

Without meaning to, Bobby had just proved to God that His thought process had been sound. Bobby was humble, and would not be inclined to abuse the powers of the position, unlike so many other Angels who aspired to the Office. Also, Bobby had asked Him an honest question, without hedging or being too timid to ask. The more God thought about this, the better He liked it. Bobby would be tough but fair, and he would bring a human aspect to the position that it badly needed.

God made his case and surprisingly, Bobby found himself beginning to consider it. He still thought it was crazy, the idea of him being God; but on the other hand, Bobby had his own ideas about how things could be run more efficiently in Heaven. He'd also had his ear to the ground and he knew that there were a number of ambitious, longer-serving Angels who aspired to the High Office. But most of them were dicks, to use the vernacular, and Bobby could not sit back and watch any one of them subject the human race to their own private agendas.

So Bobby took the job, and he and God shook on it.

SAM, 1.3

Sam was in the kitchen just starting to make breakfast for himself and Dean when Gail walked in.

"How dare you start without me?" she teased, walking up to him for a hug.

"How'd your meeting with the Big Guy go?" Sam asked her. He couldn't imagine what it would be like, being summoned personally by God and sitting across a desk from Him. Gail had shared her impressions of God from her prior meetings with Him with both brothers, but Sam still had trouble wrapping his head around it. Of course, he was still getting used to the idea of Gail being an Angel. She acted more human than any Angel he had ever met, even Cas, whose acclimation was still a work in progress.

"It was fine," she responded, poking around in the fridge. "Very interesting, in fact."

"Care to enlighten me?" Sam asked, grinning.

Gail emerged from the fridge, handing him a carton of eggs.

Then she told Sam about Cas's job offer, knowing Cas wouldn't mind; he was talking to Dean in the library area right now and she was sure the subject would come up.

"And he turned God down?" Sam was astonished. Could you even do that? He was glad, though. Cas and Dean had always been very close, but Sam had gotten to know Cas better over the last couple of years and now Sam felt a great deal of affection for Cas, too. Sam couldn't imagine their lives without him, and now he couldn't imagine their lives without Gail, either. He was glad Cas had decided to stay here. But that begged the question: who would replace God when He retired?

Den and Cas were sitting at the library table and they were indeed talking about the job Cas had passed up.

Dean was giving him a hard time about it. "You had the chance to be God and you turned it down?" He groaned, pretending to be upset. "Think of the perks!"

Cas leaned back in his chair, smiling at Dean. "A never-ending supply of free beer, maybe?" he teased.

Dean laughed. How far Cas had come in the years they'd known each other. Angels were still dicks, but this guy was OK. Of course, he was glad that Cas hadn't taken the job. Like Sam, he couldn't imagine what his life would be like without Cas in it, and he didn't even want to try.

Breakfast was ready, and Gail walked out to the library area to let Dean know. He and Cas were still joking about the advantages Dean would have enjoyed being God's best friend, and it did Gail's heart good to hear them laugh like that.

Impulsively, she threw her arms around Dean from behind his chair and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Breakfast is served," she said in a chipper voice.

"Sammy usually just yells at me from the kitchen," Dean quipped. "I like your way a lot better."

Gail smiled as she came around to where Castiel was sitting. He rose from his chair, as was his custom. He had done that on the day they first met, right here in this room. She had found the habit charming then, and she still did.

Castiel took her hand and they turned to look at Dean. "We can't stay," Cas said. Gail looked at him, eyebrows raised. This was news to her.

"Oh? Why not?" Dean asked.

"Because we have to get back to the apartment and..." he looked at Gail and smiled, "...not sleep for a while."

The look on Dean's face as they vanished out of the bunker was truly priceless.

CHUCK, 1.10

Chuck/Candy walked into the casino and sat down at the nearest slot machine. His feet were sore and the bottom of his stockings were filthy.

Now that he was on Earth again, Chuck had no idea what he was going to do. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. He had spent so many years being bitter and plotting his revenge, and for what? Where had it gotten him? Cast into Hell. He'd been lucky enough to have escaped eternal torment, but now he was back at square one. Maybe someone was trying to tell him something.

Chuck looked around at all of the people in the casino, drinking and smoking, most looking for that elusive jackpot, the big payoff. It was no wonder that Hell's portal led to Vegas, he thought wryly. If there was ever a place that was custom-built for sinners, Las Vegas was it. Chuck had sinned pretty badly in the last few years of his existence. Could he make a fresh start here, of all places?

As if to support his thoughts of redemption, Chuck looked down and noticed a black chip on the carpet right in front of the stool he was sitting on. He reached down to pick it up. "Excuse me, miss," he said to a passing cocktail waitress. "Can you tell me how much this is worth?"

The waitress stopped and looked at the bedraggled young girl with the chip in her hand.

"That's a hundred dollars," the waitress said, not unkindly. This girl looked like she'd been though the wringer. "Would you like a drink, sweetie?"

Chuck thought about that for a moment. Why not? He could drink a toast to his newfound attitude and decide where to go from here.

When the waitress returned with Chuck's beer, he gave her a $5 tip and put the rest of the change in Candy's purse. He'd never carried a purse before, having spent life as a man, but he could kind of see the attraction of having one. He brought the beer bottle to his mouth and silently toasted to a new beginning.

A few minutes later, a man with sandy-coloured hair and a beard sat down on the stool next to Chuck's. He glanced at the man, then did a double-take. He could be Chuck's twin, or at least, the way Chuck had looked in life. The man's head was down and he was murmuring, "Please, God. Take me out of here before I do it myself."

Chuck's ears perked up. This man was extending the invitation!

Though Chuck had been a workaday Angel in Heaven with no special powers, he still retained the ability to possess a human vessel, but only if invited. That held true for all Angels. It didn't necessarily have to be an express invitation; a longing or a wish would do. This man's wish was clear, and Chuck would take him up on it.

Goodbye, Candy, Chuck thought. I wish you well, my dear.

And with that, Chuck entered the man's body and Candy came back to herself, wondering what she was doing here, shoes off and with a beer bottle in her hand.

Chuck checked the pockets of his new vessel and found a wallet in his pants, stuffed with cash and credit cards. He also took this as a sign that his decision to try to mend his ways was being rewarded.

Chuck took a $100 bill out of the overstuffed wallet and handed it to Candy. "Here," he said to her. "Buy some new shoes."

Candy looked at him, puzzled. Then her eyes narrowed with suspicion. She was young, but she was pretty, and she'd been around long enough to know that guys never just gave you money. They always wanted something in return.

Chuck saw the expression on her face and he understood. Up until today, he had been one of those guys. He dropped the money on her lap and held his hands up. "No strings." He smiled. "Good luck, sweetie."

Then Chuck walked out of the casino and into the Strip, enjoying the sights and sounds, leaving an astonished Candy behind him.

Chuck walked up and down the Strip for hours, until he came to the Rio hotel. There, he saw a marquee that stopped him dead in his tracks:

"SUPERNATURAL" CONVENTION, AUG. 27-30.

No way. Really? Chuck had heard that these existed, but he had never been to one. He checked the gold Rolex watch his vessel had been wearing for today's date and saw that the event was coming up this weekend.

Chuck didn't know if this was another sign, but he did know that this was something he just had to see.

BECKY, 1.3

Becky waited for...well, she didn't know what, exactly. Some word, some sign, anything that would let her know that her delivery from Hell was close at hand. After a while, she had no choice but to conclude that she had been duped by Chuck and Metatron. There was no one coming for her.

Then Becky got mad. She'd done a very brave thing, at great risk to herself, in taking Chuck and Metatron to the portal. Where was her reward?

When she couldn't stand waiting any more, Becky decided to take matters into her own hands. She had been meek for too long, and it had gotten her nowhere. It was time to take action.

Becky waited for her next scheduled break and snuck over to the portal. Luck was on her side, and she wasn't seen. She stepped through the portal and emerged from behind the dumpster. She had done it! She was back on Earth!

Now, to find a vessel. Becky didn't know too much about it, but she had heard through the grapevine that once you had been to Heaven or Hell, you no longer had a corporeal body. But you could enter a human body, a "vessel" as it was called, if the person was receptive. She didn't know exactly what that meant, but hopefully she'd figure it out.

CANDY, 1.1

Candy's week hadn't started out great. She'd been pounding the pavement in Vegas, looking for a job but not finding anything, at least not anything a decent girl would do. She had been hungry and thirsty, feeling discouraged, and then SNAP! the heel had broken off one of her shoes. She remembered thinking that was the last straw, she'd had it, if only she could be someone else for a while, 'cause it really sucked to be her right now.

And then the next memory she had was of sitting in one of the casinos, in her stocking feet and a half-full beer bottle in her hand. How had she gotten here? Why couldn't she remember?

Then a friendly-looking man had given her a $100 bill and told her to buy new shoes. She had been suspicious of him and his motives: Did he think she was a hooker? But then, he had just left the money with her and walked away. Was he her guardian angel?

So Candy had taken the money that the man had given her and bought some lunch; then, as she was putting the change from the purchase back in her purse, she found almost $90 in it that hadn't been there before! She had been confused, but also very happy; now she had meal money for a few days, and she was paid up until Monday at the motel where she was staying.

Candy had felt like her luck was changing for the better, so she'd splurged and taken a cab to the outlet mall to buy a new pair of shoes, then splurged on another cab to take her and her sore feet back to the motel where she was staying. She washed her dirty stockings in the sink and thought about the time lapse she had experienced earlier. Did it have something to do with the man who'd given her the money, who she was now convinced was a guardian angel?

For the next couple of days, Candy was back on the street, and her job hunt seemed to be bearing fruit at last. She visited two restaurants that were looking for servers, and she was offered a job at both. She was walking past the alleyway where she had broken her heel earlier in the week, contemplating which job to take, and thinking about her guardian angel. How cool it would be to be an Angel, helping people and doing good deeds.

That was when Becky, who had come out of the portal and into the alleyway, heard Candy's thought. Sounded like an invitation to Becky. So she entered Candy's body then, taking it as her vessel.

BECKY, 1.4

Becky was ecstatic. Not only was she back on Earth, but she'd been able to find a human vessel and take it so easily. And best of all, the girl she'd taken over was young, and very pretty.

This was even better than going to Heaven, Becky realized. She would be able to reinvent herself now, make a fresh start. She'd been an idiot to have committed suicide like she had, Becky now knew. She had loved Sam then and she still did, but she had taken the easy way out. That was probably why she'd gone to Hell; she'd been punished for having squandered her young life that way. But now she'd been given a second chance to get it right, or more accurately, she had given herself a second chance. Becky had learned her lesson. She was going to become a better woman, a strong woman, and live life on her own terms.

She started to walk down the Las Vegas Strip, marvelling at the sights and the sounds all around her. Becky had led a quiet and sheltered life before, and here she was now, in one of the most exciting and vibrant cities in the world. Wow.

She walked for quite a while, gawking at all the fancy hotels and casinos, until she found herself walking by the Rio hotel. She saw the marquee immediately: "SUPERNATURAL" CONVENTION, AUG. 27-30.

Becky stopped in her tracks, much as Chuck had done when he'd seen the same thing. Really? Was this a sign of some sort, a signal? It might just be an incredible coincidence, but the odds against that seemed overwhelming. She had broken out of Hell, found a vessel right away, and now she was standing here looking at the manifestation of her adult life's obsession. This had to mean something. Maybe God was trying to give her another chance.

She rooted around in her vessel's purse. Not a whole lot of money in there, probably not even enough to buy a ticket to get inside the convention.

Someone passed by her then, and she asked them the date. The convention was starting tomorrow!

Well, if God was trying to send her a message, He would provide. Becky entered the casino and bought $40 worth of chips. She decided to try blackjack; it seemed to be the easiest game to understand.

An hour later, Becky was up $300, and then she knew God wanted her to go to the convention. She had never been to one before, of course, but she knew that they were events where people who were devotees of Chuck's books got together and bonded over them. Becky would have been too shy and socially awkward in life to attend something like this; but she was determined to be a new Becky, a confident woman who was in charge of her own life.

She cashed out, $350 up, and went to the casino's box office to buy a ticket. While the clerk was looking on her computer for any available seats, Becky grabbed a brochure. She was amazed at the size and scope of the thing. The Supernatural series must have grown in popularity since she'd been gone. All of the principal actors from the TV show were going to be there. That should be interesting. She wondered what they'd look like, especially the actor who played Sam. Becky was one of the few people who knew that Sam and Dean Winchester were real; she had actually met them through Chuck, who was the author of the series of books which had started this whole phenomenon. She peered closer at the brochure but there was no mention of Chuck. Of course, there wouldn't be. He had disappeared a few years ago and as far as anyone knew, he was dead. And yes, he had been dead; but Becky also knew that Chuck was back on Earth and here in Las Vegas, in fact. Unless he had taken off for greener pastures since she'd helped him escape from Hell. She wondered if he was still here, and if he had seen this. Becky wouldn't mind meeting up with Chuck again; he had some explaining to do. He and Metatron had promised her she'd be sent for, and then they had abandoned her, left her to rot in Hell.

Sigh. Oh, well. Becky had liberated herself from Hell, and now she was about to have a very interesting weekend. The clerk had found a seat for her in the auditorium where the main show would be taking place. It was way in the back, the show having nearly sold out at this late date, but it was access, and that was all she cared about.

As Becky dug into her purse to pay for the ticket, she found a business card for a motel with a room number written on the back, and decided to make her way there. Maybe this was where her vessel had been staying. If so, she could get a good night's sleep and be back here early for the start of the convention tomorrow morning. She didn't want to miss a minute. Maybe she would even splurge a little and spend a bit of her winnings on a couple of Chuck's books; she was sure they would have the whole series there, along with a lot of other merchandise.

When Becky got to the motel, she went to the room number that was written on the back of the card and luckily, the key that was in the purse worked on the door, and she was home.

She turned on the TV as she was undressing for bed, and flipped around from station to station once she was settled under the covers. Becky checked the onscreen guide and, unbelievably, she found a channel that was showing the Supernatural TV show. Another sign? It had to be!

Becky watched the show with rapt fascination. It depicted the brothers just as she'd remembered them from the books, and the actors who played Sam and Dean were very handsome, like their real-life counterparts. In fact, the resemblance was uncanny. She wondered if the producers of the show, or whoever was in charge of these things, somehow knew about the real Sam and Dean. How else could it be explained?

She stared at the actor who played Sam. Becky had missed the beginning of the show so she didn't know his name, but she found herself fascinated by him. Her old feelings of love for the Sam she had known came flooding back, and she felt a flutter in her stomach. Calm down, Becky, she told herself. She would do well to remember how the real Sam had rejected her in real life, triggering a depression in her that was so severe that she had killed herself. And landed in Hell. She'd better not go there again.

Then Becky reminded herself that she was a new woman now, a confident one, and not the lovesick girl who had lost her mind and then her life pining for a man who didn't want her.

But she fell asleep after watching the show and dreamt about Sam, and when Becky woke up, she was crying.

BOBBY, 1.2

Bobby sat behind the desk in God's office, looking at the stack of open files that God had left for him.

They had just concluded their meeting, and it had been an interesting one. God had brought him up to speed; there were a few Parties of Interest to watch. Their files were in the pile on the desk, along with a few notes God had made on other parties for Bobby to peruse.

"Now once I'm gone, Bobby," God had said with a smile, "I'm gone. Retired. You'll be Me."

Bobby sort of understood what God was trying to say, but he wanted clarification. "So what you're saying is...'Don't write, don't call, lose my number.'"

God smiled at this. He knew He'd made the right decision in choosing Bobby to succeed him.

"No, what I'm actually saying," God told Bobby by way of clarification, "is, only call me in case of a dire emergency." He held up His hand, smiling again. "And before you ask me what constitutes a dire emergency-"

But Bobby was nodding. He understood. "Sam and Dean Winchester, Castiel, Gail," he said, and God nodded. "Don't worry, I'll look after them," Bobby assured God. "Those three guys are special to me, and if Gail's got their stamp of approval, that's good enough for me."

They shook then, and before God left, he placed both of his hands on Bobby's head. "Brace yourself, Bobby, this will be a little...uh, intense," God told him. A brilliant white light emanated from God's hands and enveloped Bobby's head.

Bobby gritted his teeth and broke into a sweat as God conferred most of His own powers unto him. Then God removed his hands and, seeing that Bobby's nose was bleeding, God touched his face with one finger and the nosebleed stopped.

"Kept a little for myself," God quipped, His eyes twinkling.

While Bobby appreciated God's having healed him, he was reeling. That had been the most indescribably powerful feeling he'd ever experienced.

"What was that?" he breathed.

"I just conferred you with Godly powers," God answered him. "Bobby Singer, you are now officially God."

Bobby was still trying to get over the shock of the transfer, and his head was so crammed full that he did not immediately react. God waited patiently; He could only imagine how Bobby was feeling right now.

Then everything settled down and Bobby felt a wonderful sense of peace and calm. He was confident he could do a good job as...God? His beard twitched.

"So...I'm God now?" Bobby asked.

"That's right," the new retiree said. He shook Bobby's hand again, wished Him luck, and left Bobby's office.

Bobby sat there for a while afterwards. His head was spinning still, not only from the infusion of the Godly powers he had received, but from the fact that he himself WAS now God. Wait until the Winchester boys and Castiel heard about this!

He wondered how he could communicate with them and then realized: he was God. He could just dial up Castiel on Angel Radio and request a meeting. Before he had left to retire, God had shared information on procedures with Bobby; living humans were not able to travel to Heaven, but God himself could go anywhere he chose to on Earth, anytime. Bobby didn't have the impediment that his former Father had had, of humans and new Angels not being able to gaze on his countenance. As a relatively new Angel himself, Bobby could choose to appear in front of any human, looking the way he'd looked in life.

So Bobby was going to call up Castiel and accompany him to the bunker to spring the news on the Winchesters. He was looking forward to the looks on Sam's and Dean's faces, and to having a drink with them once they'd gotten over the shock. He had no need to drink any more, of course, but for an occasion like that, he'd make an exception. His beard twitched in amusement once again; he couldn't wait.

But first, he supposed he'd better take a quick look at the files and the notes on his desk. Business before pleasure. He actually did have some ideas on how to reorganize things, but Bobby wanted to look at the status reports first.

Chuck and Metatron had been reported as escapees from Hell, and were suspected to be on the loose in the U.S., current whereabouts unknown. Only God, and now Bobby, knew that Heaven and Hell had a hotline of sorts between them, a channel through which the two rulers could communicate under certain circumstances. Apparently, Crowley or one of his representatives had alerted God that the two former Angels had escaped from Hell and were currently MIA.

Bobby wasn't sure how he felt about having a direct pipeline to Crowley. He would have to ask the Winchesters and Castiel about that. Obviously, it was very important to know that those two were wandering around on Earth again, especially Metatron. He had long been a prisoner in Heaven until he'd escaped to Earth recently and became a serial killer. Bobby whistled as he read God's full report on Metatron. This guy was bad news. He had apparently acquired a taste for killing, and he had an axe to grind, a vendetta against Heaven and against Castiel. Apparently, Metatron was under the impression that he had killed the Winchesters; at least, he had died thinking that he had, Bobby read with interest. But where there was a Cas, there were usually Winchesters, so Bobby made a mental note to talk to them about that too when he saw them. He noted from reading the file that Gail had actually killed Metatron. His eyebrows raised at this. Impressive. The more he heard about this Gail, both through his briefing with God and from what he was reading here, the more anxious Bobby became to meet her. He wasn't sure what the nature of her relationship was with Sam and Dean, or even with Castiel for that matter, but any rookie Angel who could kill an Original Angel, Bobby wanted to meet. He'd ask Castiel to bring her along when he met with him and the Winchesters. Come to think of it, he may not need to; when God had talked to Bobby about Gail and Castiel, he had kind of hinted around that they were a package deal. Bobby grinned to himself as he thought about the Cas he'd known in life. If he had a girlfriend now, good for him. It was about damn time.

Bobby put down the file he was reading and realized he just didn't feel like going through any more bureaucratic b.s. right now. This all would keep till the morning. Right now, he wanted to hoist a couple with the Winchesters. Hell, he was God; he could do whatever he wanted, right?

He closed his eyes and called Cas on Angel Radio. This was gonna be fun.

END OF BOOK TWO.


End file.
